


Synonyms For Pretend

by Scarlett_Lucian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Technically enemies with benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Lucian/pseuds/Scarlett_Lucian
Summary: When faced with a stubborn lovelorn admirer, Harry Potter blurts out that he and Draco Malfoy have been secretly dating to avoid his admirer's attentions. Unfortunately for Harry, a few other students played audience to his false admission, including Draco. Harry persuades Draco to play along with the charade long enough for it to be believed, but as the two enemies get to know each better, they realize things about themselves - and each other - that they never knew before.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 341
Kudos: 1036
Collections: Talullah’s favorite HP fanfics





	1. Claim

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the popular fake dating/fake relationship trope, set during an alternative sixth year with no Voldemort! Hope you enjoy!

“I want fourteen inches on Weather charms by next Thursday!”

But Flitwick’s reminder was mostly lost under the sounds of students leaving class. Chair legs screeched across the floor and conversations spooled out into the air to form an intricate web of words, so blurred together that the individual pieces were barely distinguishable.

“I think I’ll do a focus on seasonal weather charms,” Hermione said, eyes far off as she thought aloud. “You know, do a bit on one spell that corresponds best to the weather from each season.”

“Brilliant,” Ron said, nearly stumbling over his bag.

Harry saw Ron’s ears tinge red at his own compliment, which Hermione barely seemed to have noticed, so engrossed was she by her plans for her paper. He had been watching the two of them circle around each other since the beginning of term, and while at first it had been disconcerting to realize that his two best friends fancied each other, now it was just annoying to be party to their obliviousness.

“Hermione, did you hear what Ron just said?” He prompted, trying to push things along.

He was rewarded with a sharp elbow to the side from a blushing Ron and a distractedly murmured “Of course, Harry,” from Hermione, who was now flipping through their Charms textbook.

Harry suppressed a groan and threaded his way through the desks to the door of the classroom. Glancing back, he saw that Hermione had come to a stop in the middle of the flow of exiting students, head bent over her book, and that Ron was standing awkwardly beside her, opening his mouth to say something and then closing it repeatedly. At this rate, it would be lucky if they made it for lunch at all.

Resigned to his fate, Harry leaned against the wall outside the classroom and took out his wand. Brow knotted in concentration, he tried to perform the rain charm Flitwick had taught them only minutes before. A small cloud popped into the air, but it stubbornly refused to procure water droplets, instead fading into a dark purple colour. He frowned at it, but the cloud only switched to pink.

“Excuse me, Harry Potter?”

Startled, Harry dropped his wand, causing the cloud to vanish. Before he had a chance to retrieve the wand, a girl with softly curling brown hair and a Hufflepuff tie picked it up and handed it to him.

“Sorry!” She squeaked, cheeks going as pink as Harry’s cloud had been. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s alright,” Harry reassured her quickly, tucking his wand into a pocket in his robe and tugging his notes out of his bag. He was certain that Flitwick had never mentioned the possibility of the cloud changing colours, but then again, maybe he had.

A faint cough pulled his gaze up from his untidy scrawl and he saw that the girl was still standing there, eyes fixated on his face.

“Sorry, can I help you with something?” He asked distractedly, peering over her shoulder to see if Ron and Hermione had come out with the latest trickle of students. No such luck.

“Yes, actually,” the girl said, drawing his attention back to her. “I’m Susan Bones? We’re in the same year, but you know, I’m in Hufflepuff, and you’re in Gryffindor, so we haven’t really gotten a chance to, you know, talk!”

“Right,” Harry agreed slowly, not sure what point she was trying to make.

“Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be interested in doing that sometime!” Susan said brightly.

It took Harry a moment to realize she was done talking and was now waiting for a response. “Sorry, am I interested in doing what?” He asked, confused.

“Talking! You know, like on a date? A Hogsmeade weekend is coming up and I was wondering if you’d like to go.” She smiled shyly up at him, cheeks flushing darker.

“Oh.” Harry shifted uncomfortably. “But we don’t know each other at all.”

“Well, that’s what the date is for!” She explained, still grinning. “To get to know each other better! Harry, I think we would be perfect together! Just wait and see!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“What?”

To Harry’s great concern, Susan’s lip began to tremble and her eyes grew glassy. “I-I just can’t!”

“Do you not love me?” Susan sniffled back her tears, but to no avail.

“What?” Harry gaped at her, unsure of how they had gone from an offer to talk to a proclamation of love within the span of a minute.

“Why, Harry?” She sobbed, tears sticking to her damp eyelashes.

Harry was speechless, searching wildly for an explanation or help or anything. He scanned the corridor frantically, but the only people coming out of the Charms classroom were Malfoy and some of his housemates, all sniggering about something. Maybe Harry could get Malfoy’s attention and get him to come over and say something insulting, so then he would have a legitimate reason for not answering Susan, who was now full-on bawling.

Harry inched around Susan, hoping that the Slytherins would notice the movement, but they continued walking down the hall, away from Harry and the tearful Hufflepuff.

“What did I do?” She wailed.

“Nothing!” Harry said hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder as he tried to placate Susan, amazed that Malfoy hadn’t heard her wail and turned to investigate.

“Then why don’t you love me, Harry?”

“Because . . .” He wracked his brain furiously, patience fraying, trying to come up with something that would put an end to this nightmarish experience. “Because I’m dating Malfoy!”

Abruptly, Susan’s sobs stopped. The shock painted across her face matched what Harry himself was feeling perfectly. Good Godric, he had just blatantly told her that he was dating his rival. Not only embarrassing, but completely unbelievable. Once she got over her initial shock and regained any semblance of reason, she would recognize the lie and start crying again about their lost love and he would be stuck there for ages before Ron and Hermione would come save him.

Merlin, could this get any worse?

“What?”

Apparently it could.

Stomach sinking, Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy staring at him, eyebrows arched above his grey eyes.

“What did you say, Potter?” The Slytherin repeated, stepping towards Harry, an indecipherable expression on his pale face.

Harry hesitated, glancing back at Susan, who was still staring at him and Malfoy in shock, tears drying up. Emboldened by her response, he threw what little caution he still possessed to the wind. “Sorry, love, I had to tell her about us. She was trying to ask me out.”

Nearly choking on the aftertaste of the endearment, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s arm, pulling him away before he could protest, leaving Susan and the group of Slytherins behind with stunned expressions plastered across their faces. Tugging Malfoy behind him, he ducked into an unoccupied classroom, checking that Peeves wasn’t there, before sinking behind one of the desks.

“What the fuck is going on, Potter?” Malfoy demanded, standing in front of Harry’s desk, eyes burning.

“Not quite sure myself,” Harry admitted, groaning. “She was just standing there, crying and asking why I didn’t love her? And it popped out of my mouth and she stopped.”

“You obviously have a way with women,” Malfoy said drily.

“They seem to think so,” Harry said, burying his face in his hands. What in Godric’s name was he supposed to do now?

“Well, now they are also going to be under the impression that we’ve been in a secret relationship for Salazar knows how long!”

“That was the idea.”

“Obviously not a very good one,” Malfoy shot back, sneering and leaning back against the desk adjacent from Harry’s. “I’m surprised that she fell for it. Hufflepuffs.” He snorted disdainfully.

Harry glowered. “If you’re going to be such a git about it, Malfoy, then why don’t you just leave?”

“Well, if I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who dragged _me_ in here,” Malfoy pointed out. “Besides, I can’t leave until you tell me what you’re going to do about this.”

“‘This’?” Harry asked wearily.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “‘Us’.” He shuddered. “Remember your little declaration? I can’t just walk out there while the whole school is under the impression that we’ve been dating.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, Malfoy. There were only five other students, not the whole school.”

“It’s Hogwarts, Potter. Trust me, _everyone_ knows now.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in jarring silence for a moment. Harry’s head swam as he desperately tried to think of something to fix it all.

“Look,” he said finally. “As much as I hate to say it, we can’t go back out there and pretend it didn’t happen. It’ll make both of us look like idiots.”

“Speak for yourself!” Malfoy said bitingly, but Harry raised a pleading hand and continued.

“I need you to play into it for a bit.”

“What?!”

Harry gritted his teeth and let out a controlled breath. “I need you to pretend that we’re dating for at least a week or two, so my story doesn’t fall through. Then we can break up and I can string out the broken-hearted excuse for a nice long time and that should get me through any proposals until at least next term.”

“And why would I do that?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“I don’t know!” Harry said exasperatedly, getting to his feet. “How about I’ll owe you a favour?”

Malfoy’s eyes glimmered. “Harry Potter indebted to me. Interesting.”

“So do we have an agreement?” Harry held out his hand impatiently.

The Slytherin stared at Harry’s palm for a moment, brow creased. “Fine.” He gripped Harry’s hand with cool fingers.

“Great.”

Feeling exhausted, Harry turned to exit the classroom.

“Shall we meet outside the Great Hall for dinner?” Malfoy called out, a hint of laughter colouring his voice. To be fair, the whole thing was rather absurd.

“Fine by me!” Harry shouted back over his shoulder, before dashing out into the hall, where he promptly smacked into Ron and Hermione. It appeared they had finally decided to make their way out of the Charms classroom. Hermione still was absorbed in her book and Ron was still staring at her with a combination of awe and nervousness.

“Hey, mate, where were you?” Ron asked, his gaze finally tugged away from Hermione by Harry’s sudden reappearance.

Fumbling for an explanation, Harry finally settled on: “It’s a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you go! I promise that it will get more original in the chapters to come, but you were warned about the trope-iness! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. :)


	2. Impersonate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco is strangely nervous, the student body is shocked, and Harry and Draco learn how to flirt. Or at least try to.

“You did what?!”

Harry cringed away from Ron’s indignant screech. His friend was going dangerously red in the face.

“It’s odd, I know, but it’s just temporary!” Harry said insistently, glancing helplessly at Hermione, who had taken his announcement a lot better than Ron had.

“Harry’s right, Ron,” Hermione agreed, placing a hand on Ron’s arm. The touch shut him up far quicker than Harry ever would have been able to do with his soothing and he shot Hermione a grateful look.

“However,” she continued, frowning. “Harry, it wasn’t very kind of you to mislead Susan like that! You could have told her the truth instead of tricking her into thinking you were already taken.”

“By Malfoy!” Ron groaned dramatically, flinging an arm over his face and holding onto one of the hallway’s walls for support.

“Shh!” Harry hissed, watching a group of Ravenclaws pass them to go into the Potions classroom. “The last thing I want is for Snape to hear about this! He’ll probably find a way to dock points for messing around with his favourite student.”

“Ugh. Messing around with Malfoy.” Ron shuddered. “That is a sentence I could have gone my whole life without hearing.”

Harry felt his face start to burn. “Ron, please! This is hard enough for me already.”

Ron sobered and clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re right. Sorry, mate. Rather you than me though.”

“Would both of you please stop with the hysterics so we can go to class?” Hermione sighed, hitching her satchel up her shoulder. “We’re going to be late and then Professor Snape is _definitely_ going to be docking points, regardless of your and Malfoy’s newfound relationship status.”

Harry followed his friends into the dank classroom, inwardly marveling at how odd it was to hear himself and Malfoy paired together in conversation without their names directly being followed by something like: ‘tried to kill each other’.

Ron wasn’t the only one who was having trouble getting used to it all.

***

Draco tried to slow down his steps, but every time he did, he would get caught up in his thoughts again and remember that he was going to meet Potter at the Great Hall, where he would be expected to hold his hand and look at him like he hung the sun in the sky.

Basically he had to act like every other wizard and witch in the whole damn world.

It made him so anxious that he would begin fairly running down the corridor. He could not wait for this whole fiasco to be over.

“Why are you acting so twitchy?” Pansy asked, eyeing Draco suspiciously as he nearly ran into Goyle’s back for the third time in the past minute.

“No reason,” he said hurriedly, looking down at his Parisian dragonhide shoes to ensure that he kept his steps measured.

“Mm.” She said noncommittally, obviously not believing him.

Draco scowled at her. “Even if there was something, it would be none of your business.”

“Draco Malfoy has a secret,” Pansy said mockingly. “What a surprise. Planning to do something to Potter and his little friends?”

“Not exactly,” he said slowly, wincing at the thought of his friends’ reactions to his upcoming show. It would have to be damn good or they’d never fall for it. _They_ were no Hufflepuffs.

“Well, do tell us before you do it so I can prepare myself for the looks on their faces!” She sniggered, eyes lighting up as she likely recalled one of their previous vengeances.

“Definitely,” Draco said, stomach sinking even more.

“Remember when Weasley vomited slugs?” Crabbe said gleefully. It was obviously one of the few things that had made the cut to be remembered by his brain. Not spellwork or his own birthday. Miserable moments suffered by the Gryffindors.

Goyle let out a short laugh, recalling the incident for himself.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you two, that wasn’t even our doing! The idiot did it to himself.”

The two boys shuffled awkwardly, large feet scraping against the stone floor.

“It was still funny,” Crabbe muttered.

Draco let out a short, exasperated breath, calming himself. Yelling at his friends would not change the fact that he had to go pretend to like Potter. He was the real idiot among them for agreeing to do such a thing. He still wasn’t quite sure why he had. It definitely wasn’t the prospect of a favour, although it was an added bonus. It made Draco feel very disconcerted that he didn’t know what had motivated his actions. He prided himself on being in control of himself. He wasn’t a Gryffindor thrill-seeker. He didn’t just do things for the hell of it. So why then had he entered into such an ill-favoured arrangement, without even a semblance of a discernable reason?

“Draco, you’re doing it again!” Pansy said sharply, grabbing Draco’s arm before he could walk face first in a wall.

“I’m fine!” He snapped, shaking her off, even more furious with himself. “I-I’ll be fine. Thank you,” he added more softly, seeing the hurt expression in his friend’s eyes.

Pansy sniffed. “You better. I’m not saving your ass every time you go crazy.”

“Just most of the times?” He prompted, bringing up a quick smile to serve as an apology.

“Exactly,” she said, returning his grin and looping her arm through his to slow his pace down as they came nearer and nearer to the Great Hall and the site where his reputation would soon be lost in a spectacular display of faux flames threaded with grimacing ice.

He turned the last corner separating him from his demise and saw Potter standing off to one side of the door to the Great Hall, hands in his pockets, staring at the scuffed flagstones, hair as disheveled as ever and hanging over his glasses due to his bent head.

As the Slytherins’ footsteps clattered around the corner, Potter looked up quickly, eyes flashing as he took in Draco and his friends.

Draco came to a stop, barely suppressing the sneer that automatically began to slide over his face whenever he looked at Potter.

“Well, well,” Pansy drawled, a feline smile perching on her lips. “What do we have here? A little lost Gryffindor separated from his minions?”

Draco saw Potter’s fists tightened, the gesture half hidden in his robes, unlike the clear defiance that lit his eyes as he opened his mouth, no doubt to issue something scathing retort.

“You lot go ahead,” Draco broke in smoothly, nodding towards the Great Hall. “I’ll deal with Potter.”

Crabbe and Goyle shrugged, eager to be off to the food anyhow, and pushed through the doors. Pansy followed them, giving Potter a mocking wave. The gesture caused Potter to step towards her, jaw tightening, but Draco grabbed his arm before the Gryffindor could do something predictably stupid that would only add to the difficulty of the act they were about to put on. His friends already were going to be suspicious of their supposed union. Potter punching one of them would not help in the slightest. 

Potter looked down at the hand Draco had placed on his arm, visibly uncomfortable by the contact.

Draco barely was able to suppress a sigh.

“You know that people who are dating usually aren’t disgusted by their partner’s touch, right?”

Potter slumped, grinning sheepishly. “Right. Sorry. I’ll be better.”

“You better. I’m not having it get out that I only pretended to date someone. My image will be damaged enough by this ruse already and if you make it worse, I will hex your hands off,” Draco said matter-of-factly, finally releasing Potter’s arm.

“Understood.” Potter nodded quickly.

The two boys both looked at the floor, shifting awkwardly. Eye-contact suddenly seemed terribly difficult.

“Well,” Draco coughed pointedly. “We better get on with this. Do you have any semblance of a plan or do you just want to go in there and play it by ear?”

“Err,” Potter fiddled with the ends of his tie. “It might come off more naturally if we just go in and make it up as we go along.”

“Fine,” Draco nodded curtly. “I assume we’re sitting at your table?”

“I think that would be best.”

“Fine.”

Draco stepped up to the door, eyes trailing over the ornate carvings etched across the age-darkened wood. “Coming, Potter?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Draco wanted to smirk at the other boy’s strangled tone, but for the fact that his own stomach felt as though it were about to drop out onto the floor.

“Right, well.” He cleared his throat and held out his right hand. “Might be a good start to just get used to walking around hand in hand.”

“Makes sense,” Potter said reluctantly and he tentatively slid his fingers between Draco’s. His skin was surprisingly warm, the sensation sinking into Draco’s palm so suddenly that he nearly dropped Potter’s hand.

“Alright then!” Draco said, voice falsely cheery for some reason and head spinning slightly at the oddity of it all. “In we go!”

He sucked in a fortifying breath and pushed the doors open. A storm of noise whirled around them, made up of the clinking of cutlery and the complaintive chattering of study-weary students ready for the upcoming weekend break.

It felt awkward, threading his way across the room while attached to another person. Like dragging a rather large piece of luggage that kept trying to go in the opposite direction.

At first, he and Potter passed through the Hall with little scrutiny, just two among a large crowd of students, but gradually people started noticing their linked hands and a great whirl of feverish whispering spread across the room like Fiendfyre, the gossip burning a path in front of them. Draco tried to ignore the incredulous stares and even the few gasps that peppered peoples’ reactions, even though it all made him itch to drop Potter’s hand and run back to his dormitory.

Potter felt his loosening fingers and squeezed his hand, looking over at him with clear threats in his eyes that made it obvious that dire things would happen if Draco took off now.

Sighing inwardly, Draco summoned up some fresh resolve and tipped his chin up, gazing back coolly at the gawking onlookers with an air of utter boredom. He was just walking to dinner with his boyfriend. Nothing unusual to see at all.

Finally they reached the section of the Gryffindor table occupied by Potter’s friends. Oddly enough, their reactions were quite subdued compared to the rest of the student body. Weasley looked slightly nauseous as he caught sight of their interlaced fingers and Granger glanced up briefly from her thick textbook, before re-immersing herself in the stained pages.

“You told them, didn’t you?” Draco hissed accusatorily in Potter’s ear, causing the other boy to wince.

“I had to!” He whispered back, tugging Draco down beside him as he slid into his seat. “They never would have fallen for it.”

“Hmph.” Draco sniffed as he awkwardly shuffled in between Potter and Granger, who did not spare another glance up from her reading material to acknowledge his presence.

“Ferret,” Weasley muttered darkly.

“Weasel,” Draco shot back, a deceptively pleasant smile curled across his lips as he reached for a tureen of soup.

“Ron,” Potter said warningly, glancing around to see if anyone had caught their exchange. “Please. Just a few weeks.”

Weasley scowled, freckled skin scrunching across his face, but let out a testy “Fine,” and turned back to his heaping plate, stabbing his food rather viciously.

Potter sighed, but began dishing his own supper.

Draco quietly picked away at his food, the surrounding roar of whispers taking away his appetite. He speared a single pea on the tarnished tines of his fork and swallowed, barely tasting it.

To his right, Potter also was shuffling the pieces of his dinner around, eyes fixed studiously on his plate.

Realizing that he was the one who was going to have to keep the act going, Draco adopted his most polite conversational tone, the one he typically saved for exceptionally painful dinners at the Manor where he was expected to charm stuffy old pureblood matriarchs and dull second cousins. “So, how was your day, love?”

The three Gryffindors started at the endearment. Even Granger looked up from her book. Draco kicked them sharply under the table and coughed pointedly.

“Fi-fine, er, darling?” Potter responded, not sounding fine at all. “Um, how was yours?”

“Not bad,” Draco said pleasantly. “Binns assigned a load of work, but at least it was about the goblin rebellions this time and not the troll sanctions. I found the reading for that terribly tedious.”

“Really?” Granger said, shutting her book suddenly, the pages slapping together with a heavy ‘thump’ that almost made Draco jump. “I thought that the bit on Edgar Bellington was quite fascinating.”

“Er, yes,” Draco said, taken aback by her sudden involvement in the conversation. “He was the one who supported the free-range laws, wasn’t he?”

Granger nodded eagerly. “Yes, as opposed to the minister for magic at the time, Leving Quilp, who tried to pass all that legislation in the Wizengamot about restrictive rights.”

“Indeed,” Draco said faintly, glancing over at Potter, who was shaking his head, smiling. He raised his dark eyebrows as if to say ‘what can you do?’

“Excuse me?”

Thankful for the interruption, Draco turned to see a blushing Ravenclaw third year staring at him and Potter with wide eyes.

“Yes?” Potter said, casually leaning against Draco’s shoulder, the action so sudden that Draco nearly fell off the back of his seat.

“Is it true?” The Ravenclaw asked, looking at them expectantly.

“Is what true?” Draco drawled, knowing perfectly well what the Ravenclaw was referring to.

“Are-are you and Harry Potter . . . ? You know.” Ravenclaw tipped his head between the two of them.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know.” Draco kept his face blank, raising his eyebrows as if confused.

Potter slapped his arm in a manner he obviously thought was playful, but it was all Draco could do to hide his wince at the sharp contact, the blow coming off as a heavy smack rather than a flirtatious tap.

“Don’t be such a tease, Mal- um, _Draco_ ,” Potter hastily corrected, colour splotching along his cheekbones as he tried to laugh coyly.

Draco gaped at him. The entire display was fascinating, not the least because Potter had called him by his first name, the sound of which made Draco’s insides twist uncomfortably.

“Sorry, _love_.” Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes, but the sight of Potter’s eyes widening in surprise made the strange taste of the sappy endearment completely worthwhile.

Potter turned back to the Ravenclaw. “Yes, in fact Draco and I have been dating for quite some time now and only recently decided to go public with the relationship.”

Mollified, the Ravenclaw stammered something unintelligible and dashed back to his friends, who had all been watching him with undisguised interest.

Draco felt the odd urge to burst out laughing as he turned back to face the table, catching Potter’s eye. The other boy was blushing furiously but grinning widely. He even had the nerve to wink conspiratorially at Draco, before tucking into his dinner with new gusto.

Apparently this was not going to be at all like Draco expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed getting to see these two poor awkward boys try to figure out what flirting looks like! Kudos and comments are always a day-maker. ;)


	3. Delude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Slytherins tell Draco exactly what they think of his new arrangement, and Harry and Draco act as though they're not fighting.

The moment Draco walked into the Slytherin common room he was surrounded.

“So,” Pansy said, the calmness leeching through her tone more frightening than if she had shouted. “Seems like your ‘secret’ was about Potter after all. I just thought you were going to be screwing _with_ him, not just plain screwing him.”

Draco bristled, shoving past her and Crabbe and Goyle, who had been flanking her. The rest of his house was seated around the common room, trying in vain to look casual. But Draco could them all leaning towards the conversation, eyes not really focused on the homework or Exploding Snap games in front of them.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak of my boyfriend with such crudeness,” Draco said coolly, head pounding furiously as he prepared himself for the performance of a life time. To a house that was already suspicious by nature, the prospect of him dating Potter was going to be an even tougher sell than it had been for the rest of the school.

“Ooh, your boyfriend!” Pansy cooed viciously, stalking across the common room towards Draco, Crabbe and Goyle hard on her heels. “Well, if it’s true love, then fuck public appearances and reputations! What was I thinking? He’s one of us now!”

Goyle frowned. “But I thought you just said—”

“I was being sarcastic, idiot!” Pansy screeched, hand raised as though she would slap the next person who said something stupid.

“Pansy, you’re making a scene,” Draco said, nodding towards their audience, who immediately all turned away and pretended to be busy with their various ruses.

“I’m making a scene? I’M MAKING A SCENE?” Pansy shouted in his face. “No, YOU made a scene when you walked into dinner with the Chosen One like you were a married couple about to celebrate your fiftieth anniversary! Me screaming in the common room doesn’t count as a scene today because everyone will be so busy talking about you and Potter that no one’s going to care that Pansy Parkinson threw a fit!”

Draco frowned, ears ringing slightly from her tirade. “We were holding hands, Pans, not kissing while surrounded by our grandchildren. What fiftieth anniversaries have you been to? Because if holding hands is a big deal for that couple, they probably don’t have the idyllic marriage that you think they do— what the fuck?”

He pressed a hand to his stinging cheek, where Pansy had placed a hard-handed slap. The rest of the common room’s occupants had given up pretending that they weren’t watching and were now goggling at them, mouths open.

“That’s it, show’s over everyone!” Draco announced, grabbing Pansy’s arm. “Come on, we are continuing this discussion in private.”

Still seething, Pansy allowed him to lead her into his dormitory, Crabbe and Goyle following close behind.

Once there, Draco gestured for them all to sit down while he shut the door, before turning to them.

“Now, I know that tonight was a bit of a shock for everyone—”

Pansy snorted, crossing her arms.

“Ahem, as I was saying, I know that this is a lot to take in. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all sooner, but Pot—, er, Harry and I wanted to keep it private for a bit because we knew it would be quite an adjustment for everyone and we didn’t want to put everyone through it if the relationship wasn’t going to work out.” Draco steeled himself for the next bit, the selling of which would be a bit trickier. “But as it is, we’ve grown to care for each other quite a lot and so we didn’t want to have to hide it anymore. Which is why we figured we would just get it over with in one go in the Great Hall.”

Draco risked a glance down to see how his friends were taking it. He thought his own performance had been exemplary, and from the subdued look on Pansy’s face, he dared to hope she thought the same.

“Well?” He prompted, sitting down on the bed across from them.

“He’s not using you, is he?” Pansy asked anxiously.

Draco felt his insides drop. “W-what do you mean?” He asked carefully.

She looked embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just, what if Potter’s using you for some kind of publicity stunt or something? I don’t know.”

His stomach settled and he summoned a smile. “I assure you, Pansy, it’s nothing of the kind.”

“Alright,” she said slowly. “Well, then I think it’s great. I know I went off about all that stuff about reputations and appearances, but if you really do care about him and he makes you happy, then I’m really glad for you.”

Guilt churned through his veins as he tried to look grateful for his friend’s support. “Thank you, Pansy, that means a lot. What about you two?” He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, whose faces had remained characteristically blank and expressionless up to that point.

Crabbe shrugged. “Whatever.”

Goyle nodded disinterestedly, staring at the wall.

“Alright then!” Draco breathed out a sigh of relief that was partly for himself and partly to fit into the act. “Shall we go work on that Charms paper?”

“I can’t believe it’s on something as inane as weather charms.” Pansy wrinkled her nose as she followed Draco to the door.

He rolled his eyes in agreement, opening the door for her, only to see a frozen huddle of Slytherins standing outside.

“Were you listening?” Draco asked.

They all nodded guiltily.

“Well, then you know that my relationship with Potter is not up for discussion, ridicule, or investigation,” Draco said pleasantly as he stepped passed them, leaving his housemates to contemplate his unspoken ‘or else’.

***

Harry yawned widely, nearly tripping down the stairs. Ron grabbed his arm, holding him upright until he got back his balance.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said blearily, steadying himself against the railing.

“No worries.” Ron clapped him on the shoulder. “Looking forward to the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match this afternoon? I’ll be interested to see how Hufflepuff’s new Keeper does against the Ravenclaw Chasers.”

“I’m going to take notes for our match against them,” Harry said, making a mental note to bring along a quill and some parchment. “Get Katie to run some drills with Demelza and Ginny.”

“Are you coming to the match, Hermione?” Ron asked casually, staring hopefully at her.

“I don’t think so,” she said, oblivious to Ron’s crushed expression. “It’s supposed to be pretty cold out and Gryffindor’s not playing, so I think I’ll just stay in and go over my Transfiguration notes.”

Harry groaned, Ron’s question prompting a realization. “Malfoy has to come with us.”

“What?! Why?” Ron asked, looking even gloomier.

“Because,” Harry lowered his voice as a lower year Gryffindor passed them. “Since we’re supposed to be dating, it’ll look odd if we don’t spend our free time together.”

“But I don’t want to spend _my_ free time with him!” Ron complained, stopping in front of the doors to the Great Hall.

“That’s fair,” Harry acknowledged, pushing through the doors. “You don’t have to sit with us if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you, Harry!” Ron said fervently. “I mean, I’m sorry to abandon you and all, but thank you!”

“Are you two coming?” Hermione asked, looking over her shoulder back at them.

Immediately, Ron’s face flushed as he nodded back. “Absolutely, ‘Mione.”

Harry suppressed a groan. “I’ll be there in a minute. I have to go talk to Malfoy about the match. Try not to trip over your feet on the way to the table. Eyes on your surroundings, not Hermione.”

Panicked, Ron checked to make sure their friend hadn’t caught the end of Harry’s warning, before glaring at Harry direly.

Shaking his head, Harry made his way across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table. Spotting Malfoy’s distinctive shock of platinum hair, Harry walked over and tapped on his shoulder.

“Potter! I mean, Harry!” Malfoy blushed a bit at his slip-up.

Harry was fascinated to see the pale boy’s cheekbones become edged with pink and dared to lean down and brush a soft kiss against the colour, remembering from his stays at the Burrow that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would sweetly greet each other at breakfast in that way.

Malfoy stared at him, an instance of shock painted across his face, before he quickly schooled his features into a pleasant smile. Harry found it quite disconcerting to be the recipient of such an expression from Malfoy. 

“Morning, love.”

“Good morning,” Harry responded, nodding politely towards Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson, who were all watching him and Malfoy with odd expressions. “Could I talk to you for a moment, Draco?”

“Of course,” Malfoy said smoothly, standing up from the table. “Excuse us for a moment.”

Harry could feel the Slytherins’ eyes on his retreating form as he and Malfoy walked over to the side of the Hall.

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy leaned against the wall imperiously.

“Well,” Harry swallowed. “I need you to come to something with me this afternoon.”

Malfoy frowned. “I can’t. I already have plans.”

“Cancel them!” Harry said forcefully.

“Being my pretend boyfriend doesn’t mean that you can tell me what to do!” Malfoy’s eyes hardened, glinting dangerously.

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy’s friends were watching them fixatedly, so Harry placed a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, hoping that the touch would distract from their angry expressions.

“Malfoy, please just listen to me for a second. People are going to expect us to spend all of the time we have out of the classroom with each other, so it will look odd if we’re not together.” Harry stared at him pleadingly.

“Then why don’t you cancel your plans and come to my thing?” Malfoy demanded, eyeing his friends and stepping closer to Harry, all the while looking as though he would much rather prefer moving farther away.

Harry pasted a fake smile across his face for their audience, speaking through gritted teeth. “Because my thing is more important.”

“Fuck that, Potter.” Malfoy began redoing Harry’s messily knotted tie with practiced hands, his cool touch brushing against Harry’s throat. “I’m not sitting around at some stupid Gryffindor party and exchanging fake pleasantries with your friends when I could be at a Quidditch match. And honestly, Potter! Who taught you to knot a tie? Weasley?”

Harry blinked, momentarily struck dumb as Malfoy smoothed his gold and red striped tie, now laced in an impeccable knot. “Yes, Ron did, actually,” Harry said falteringly, once he had found his voice. “Although I think _you_ should reteach me after we get back from the match.”

“So you’ve finally seen sense and decided to let me win? Well done, Potter.” Malfoy’s eyes burned with victory.

“No,” Harry said smugly, stepping away from the wall, hands in his pockets. “It’s just that that’s why I walked over here in the first place. To convince you to go to the match with me.”

Malfoy’s face twitched, as though he very much wanted to sneer at Harry and then storm off. But instead he took Harry’s arm and pulled him towards the Slytherin table.

“I sat with your friends for dinner, you will sit with me and my friends for breakfast.”

The airy triumph that Harry had felt only seconds earlier fizzled away into nerves as he sat down beside Malfoy, smiling wanly at the Slytherins surrounding him.

“So,” Pansy Parkinson said, leaning across the table towards Harry, a dark gleam in her eyes. “What are your intentions towards our Draco?”

Malfoy let out an amused snort, covering it up quickly with a forced cough as Harry stared at Pansy.

“Um, well . . .” he stammered, nearly knocking a flagon of pumpkin juice off the table with his elbow.

Pansy laughed, the sound alleviating some of the panic coursing through Harry’s veins. “Relax, Potter. You looked like I was asking you to propose marriage. Although, now that I’ve mentioned it, are you thinking of going with Potter-Malfoy or Malfoy-Potter?”

Harry gulped. Apparently breakfast with the Slytherins was going to be as terrifying as he had feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. :)


	4. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry and Draco attend a Quidditch match and save each other in small ways.

The corridor outside the Slytherin dorms was very drafty. Harry shivered, wishing that he’d worn his scarf and winter robes. Or that Malfoy had come out to meet him at the agreed upon time. For the past half hour, numerous Slytherins had trickled out from their common room, gaping openly when they saw Harry standing across from the entrance. Curious eyes and gossipy whispers were now common traits among the members of the snake house.

Harry huffed out a sigh, his breath almost visible in the chill air.

The stretch of wall that was the Slytherin entrance slid open and he looked up hopefully, only to see a small first-year student scramble out, robes flapping. When he caught sight of Harry, his eyes widened and he stuttered to a stop.

“Hey,” Harry said hastily, fed up with waiting. “Can you go back in there and tell Draco Malfoy that I’m waiting for him?”

The first-year gulped anxiously, as though the reason Harry was waiting for Malfoy was a nefarious one, which was fair consider that it would have been true only days before.

Harry sent him a pleading look and he finally nodded.

“O-okay,” he said shakily, disappearing back into the dorms.

Moments later he reappeared, Malfoy only steps behind him. Job done, the first-year fled, racing down the corridor, robes billowing in his wake.

“Thank you!” Harry called after him.

“Merlin, Potter, it’s only a minute past quarter to three, you didn’t need to send a search party,” Malfoy drawled, looping his green and silver striped scarf elegantly around his neck.

Harry scowled. “We said we’d meet at quarter after two, so I would say that a search party was more than warranted. I’ve been freezing to death out here for over half an hour!”

“Well, you should have dressed warmer,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “And actually listened when we agreed to meet at quarter to three.”

“We never said that,” Harry argued, biting back another shiver, not wanting to see Malfoy’s smirk of satisfaction. “It was definitely quarter to two.”

Malfoy sighed, walking down the corridor, shoes tapping smartly against the worn stone.

“Don’t walk away from me! I’m not finished!” Harry ran to catch up with Malfoy, falling into step with him and glaring crossly.

Malfoy halted, turning to look at Harry with a long-suffering expression painted across his pale face. “Look, Potter, the way I see it is we can stop here and continue with this fruitless argument of who was right and who was wrong, which never will be resolved, or, we can forget about it and actually go to the match. Now, I know which of the two options I would like to go with, and I should hope you decide the same, because I am not going to look as though I were stood up in front of the whole school.”

And without a glance back, Malfoy spun on his heel and continued down the corridor, Harry once again forced to jog to catch up.

Stonily silent, the two boys walked out of the castle and across the grounds to the Quidditch pitch, where the stands were already filled with a roiling mass of students and teachers alike. Yellow and blue pennants snapped merrily in the fierce November gusts of wind and coordinated cheers rang up to the dark, cloud-strewn sky that looked as though flurries of snow could burst from it at any moment.

Harry climbed up through the stands, saying hello to people he knew and raking the vicinity for a spot to sit.

Beside him, Malfoy shouted something just as a fresh set of Ravenclaw cheers started up, sweeping his words away into the cacophony.

“What?” Harry shouted back, shoved farther away from Malfoy as several Hufflepuffs pushed their way between them.

Exasperated, Malfoy elbowed his way over to Harry, leaning in so close that his lips brushed against the shell of Harry’s ear. “I said, I see some seats over there!”

He turned to point to them, only to be jostled by another careless passing group of students. Malfoy stumbled back against Harry, grabbing onto one of his arms for support, while Harry automatically curled the other around Malfoy’s waist to steady him. They both froze, muscles tensing as another stream of students shuffled past them, some of them turning to gawk at the odd sight of Harry Potter with his arms around Draco Malfoy. Despite the rumours, seeing was believing at Hogwarts.

Finally, the aisle cleared. Harry carefully set Malfoy back on his feet. The other boy muttered a reluctant “thank you”, before beginning to climb up towards the seats he had spotted. Insides churning uncomfortably from the leftover adrenaline of the moment, Harry followed.

Once they reached the row, Malfoy simply pushed his way past the already seated students, knocking into protruding arms and knees unforgivingly. Harry whispered frantic apologies as he trailed in the Slytherin’s wake, face flushing with embarrassment.

The bench space Malfoy had seen was open at the very end of the row of course and Harry wasn’t sure if the other occupants Malfoy had smashed into on the way would let them out at the end of the match.

At last, Malfoy primly perched at the end of the bleacher, back so straight it looked painful. Harry slumped down beside him, gazing down at the Quidditch pitch and the brightly uniformed players gathering on either side. The crowd cheered excited and Harry caught sight of Ron seated on the other side of the stands. He waved and Ron grinned back, smile fading when his gaze shifted to Malfoy.

Madam Hooch walked out onto the field to confer with the team captains before the game started. The match wouldn’t be as ugly as a Slytherin-Gyffindor game, but inter-school Quidditch games were always rife with competition and fouls were common.

Harry tugged out a scrap of parchment and a magicked quill from a robe pocket, keenly watching as Hufflepuff’s new keeper kicked off the ground and began to circle the goal posts’ shiny loops.

Malfoy snorted. “Didn’t know Granger had you so into taking notes that you did it for Quidditch too.”

“It’s my first year as captain of the Gryffindor team, so I want to do some recon on the other teams,” Harry explained stiffly.

“Mmm,” Malfoy said mockingly. “How very dedicated of you. Shame that Slytherin still is going to win the Cup despite all your ‘prep’.”

Harry fixedly ignored him, watching as the Ravenclaw chasers flew down the field towards the Hufflepuff goal posts in a blur of blue, tossing the bright Quaffle expertly between them. Half of the crowd roared its support as they circled around the goal posts and tossed the ball just past the Hufflepuff keeper’s fingertips. 

The Hufflepuffs groaned as ten points got put up on the board for Ravenclaw.

With the Quaffle now in their possession, the yellow-robed team sped determinedly down the pitch, only to be blocked by a matching pair of jet-black Bludgers punted their way by the Ravenclaw beaters, who waved cheerily at the disgruntled Hufflepuffs.

Harry winced with sympathy as he noticed one of the Hufflepuff chasers favouring an arm after being clipped by one of the deadly Bludgers.

“Bad memories, Pot-, ahem, Harry?” Malfoy amended, glancing at the students sitting around them and remembering their audience.

“Bludgers and I certainly aren’t on the best of terms.” Harry smiled tightly, phantom pain tingling through him in memory of his various Bludger-related injuries.

“Well, the Ravenclaw beaters sure have a good handle on them,” Malfoy said admiringly.

Harry scoffed. “Please, that was just a lucky shot.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “A lucky shot is one of the reasons Brazil won the International Cup last year, so I wouldn’t sound quite so scornful about it.”

“If your team’s victory relies on chance conditions, I think it’s pretty hollow. Austria should have won the title.”

“Are you out of your mind? With Kriefen as seeker? The man couldn’t catch the Snitch if it were hovering motionless in front of his face!” Malfoy said emphatically, raking a hand through his copiously styled hair, making the strands stick up from his head in a manner that was so unlike Malfoy that Harry wanted to smile.

“At least Austria didn’t have to work around two incompetent chasers,” Harry pointed out, turning back to the field to watch as Ravenclaw got back possession. “Rojas and Miraflores should have been replaced with reserve players.”

“I agree.”

“What?” Harry looked over at Malfoy, sure the crowd’s dull buzz had distorted the Slytherin’s words.

Malfoy smirked at him, unusually wayward hair fluttering in the wind. “I said I agree! What, is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah. I assumed you would on principle.” Harry shrugged, oddly pleased by how offended Malfoy was getting.

However their argument was broken by an abrupt cheer issued by the crowd. Some students seated around them even jumped to their feet. Hufflepuff had blocked the Ravenclaw advance with a nicely placed Bludger, revenge for the earlier play, and were now bolting towards the opposition’s goal posts, passing the ball back and worth with an ease usually only seen on the international circuit.

The Ravenclaw keeper made a desperate reach but was too late, the Quaffle smashing through the center hoop to thunderous applause. But before the Hufflepuff team could have even a moment of triumph, the Ravenclaw chasers were tearing back down the pitch towards their goal posts, the yellow-robed team hot on their heels, desperate to catch up.

“He leans,” Malfoy remarked casually.

“What?” Harry distractedly, focused on the action below them. The Quaffle had just been dropped and multiple chasers from both teams were now flying down to the ground to try and retrieve it before Madam Hooch could blow for a time out.

“The new Hufflepuff keeper,” Malfoy nodded towards the yellow-robed figure in front of the hoops. “He keeps leaning over to the right each time that he thinks there’s going to be an approach. Might want to add it to your notes.”

“Thanks,” Harry said hesitantly, staring at Malfoy’s oddly guileless expression for a moment before scribbling the information down.

Madam Hooch let out a piercing blast on her whistle that echoed around the stadium, putting the scramble for the Quaffle to a halt. Both teams took a time out and huddled in circles on either side of the pitch.

A fresh breeze gusted across the stands and Harry shivered, the cold reminiscent of the Slytherin dungeon. His hands were slowly reddening to match his tie.

“Give them here!” Malfoy hissed, gesturing impatiently while keeping a pleasant smile on his face for any onlookers.

Hesitantly, Harry allowed the Slytherin to interlace their fingers. Malfoy’s hands were shockingly warm and Harry pressed their palms closer together to chase away the cold that had seeped into his bones.

“Merlin, your hands are freezing!” Malfoy complained, shifting so that his shoulder rested against Harry’s.

Even through their robes, Malfoy’s surprising warmth quickly transferred over to Harry, dulling his shivers as the game started back up. It felt impossibly odd to be sitting cuddled up to Malfoy watching a Quidditch match, but Harry was too cold to even consider moving. Besides, it would do wonders to cement their image as a couple.

“Warming charms.” Malfoy said suddenly.

“Huh?” Harry turned to look at him, abruptly very aware of their close proximity as his nose nearly brushed Malfoy’s cheek.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but with surprisingly little exasperation. “I cast warming charms before we left. When you live in the dungeons, it’s an everyday necessity.”

“Oh. That’s . . . smart,” Harry said lamely. “You’ll have to teach me that one along with the tie trick.”

“I suppose I will,” Malfoy said, offering Harry an almost genuine smile. “I can’t have my boyfriend freezing to death or walking around looking as though a bowtruckle knotted his tie.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Harry simply nodded and quickly turned back to watch the game. What had he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we go! Harry may be starting to realize that his feelings about Draco are more complex then he first thought!   
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. :)


	5. Beguile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pansy does some well-intentioned manipulation, Harry almost makes Draco think he's a smooth flirter, and something unexpected happens.

Over the next few days, the initial uproar over Draco’s new relationship with the Chosen One began to die down. Granted, he and Potter still got some puzzled glances now and then, but for the most part, the school seemed to have accepted the unlikely match and moved on. Although Draco was sure that he had heard some of the upper year students in Slytherin forming a betting pool on various aspects of the relationship, such as who would dump who and just how soon that would be.

Even Draco had gotten mostly used to it by now. He and Potter had fallen into an uneasy routine. They alternated meals at each other’s tables, making an ungodly amount of effort with each other’s friends during it, as Draco didn’t think it would be seemly for him to get into a fist fight with his apparent boyfriend’s best mate, much as he kept being tempted to by the russet-haired tosser. They walked together to any joint Slytherin-Gryffindor classes, pairing up whenever possible for assignments. In the evenings, they would study at one of the most central tables in the library and then walk back together as far as they could before they had to split to their various dorms. They casually held hands, called each other by their first names the majority of the time, spoke mostly civilized words whenever they had to talk to each other, and played off any fights they couldn’t hold in as lovers’ spats.

In other words, to any outside observer, Draco Malfoy appeared to be the perfect boyfriend.

***

“You are the worst boyfriend!”

“What?” Draco stared bewilderedly at Pansy, who had suddenly erupted out of her chair by the common room fire and was now pointing an accusing finger at him.

“You just said you’re not going to bring Potter to the party tomorrow!” She raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

Draco heaved a sigh, abandoning the Transfiguration textbook he had been trying to read. “Yes, Pansy, because I am not planning on going to it myself! So it would be a bit odd for Harry to attend a _Slytherin_ party when his _Slytherin_ boyfriend is going to be studying in his dorm the whole time!”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh Merlin, is it because you have feelings for someone else?”

“What? Do you even hear yourself right now?” He demanded exasperatedly, thankful that it was early enough that the common room was still deserted. The rest of the house did not need to play audience to two of their tiffs in the same week.

Pansy fell back in her chair, face twisted in an expression that would have been categorized as ‘pouting’ on anyone else. “I’m just showing the kind of concern any friend would!”

“If these ‘friends’ are frequently delusional, then yes, you’re absolutely right!”

“Someone’s crabby before his coffee,” Pansy cooed knowingly.

Draco glared at her. “Which is why _someone_ shouldn’t have made this a thing before breakfast.”

Her expression softened. “Sorry, I just thought it might be nice if you actually came to one of these things for a change.”

“I’ve gone to a party before,” he retorted, affronted.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, and barely spoke to anyone the entire time! You slumped in a corner and glared at anyone who dared to come within five feet of you!”

“I just don’t see the point!” Draco said insistently. “It’s the same people we see every day, who we live with for Salazar’s sake! Only now they’re all sloshed on fire whiskey and find every mundane thing hilarious or they’re bursting into tears because they heard a random song and it’s all thoroughly unpleasant!”

She waved him off dismissively. “Crabbe only cried that one time and now Goyle makes sure to cut him off after two drinks, so you don’t need to worry about that. And as for the unpleasantness, if you have your boyfriend with you, it should be fun no matter what! Please, Draco!” She coaxed, even going so far as to bat her eyelashes. “Just try it again this once! And if you hate it, even with Potter beside you, I won’t make you go to another!”

Draco eyed her wearily. “You promise? You won’t make me go to any more parties _ever,_ swear on the name of Salazar Slytherin?”

“On Merlin himself!” She said effusively.

“Alright,” Draco said slowly. “Fine then. I’ll ask Harry at breakfast.”

Pansy glowed triumphantly, leaping out of her chair to press a kiss to his cheek. “Great! Thank you for trying, I promise, you will not regret this!”

Draco smiled wanly. The dread already pooling in his stomach was suggesting the contrary.

***

“Well, I suppose we should go in,” Draco said reluctantly, staring at the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon.

“That would make sense,” Potter agreed, standing beside him, shuffling his feet awkwardly, a motion which Draco was quickly learning meant he was cold.

A fresh draft shuddered down the corridor, prickling on the back of Draco’s neck as he continued to stand motionless in front of the stretch of bare wall.

Potter fidgeted, slipping his hands in and out of his pockets, before deciding to just let them hang by his sides. “I wish I’d worn my robes.”

Draco snorted. “Potter, no one wears robes to a party, not even you. The rest of the uniform is tolerable, but robes make it seem as though you’re just begging to be mocked. And no one would believe that I’d let my boyfriend subject himself to that kind of social folly. Speaking of, let me redo your tie.”

“My tie is fine,” Potter muttered, tugging the lopsided knot determinedly.

“Mmhm.”

“Look, can we please just go in and get this over with?” Potter pleaded, taking off his absurd circular glasses and cleaning them on his shirt before replacing them, just as smudged as before. “I don’t see what _you_ have to be nervous about anyhow. You’re not the one about to go to another house’s party where the majority of the attendants would gladly push you through the window into the lake for the giant squid to devour!”

Draco frowned. “How do you know about the window? You’ve never been in the Slytherin dorms before.”

For an instant, Potter’s eyes filled with something that looked an awful lot like panic. He gulped. “Just rumours.”

Draco noted his anxiety, filing it away to be examined at a later time. Apparently Gryffindors were just as bad at lying as he’d always heard.

“Cover your ears,” Draco ordered.

“Why?”

“So you don’t hear the password,” Draco explained begrudgingly.

“Fine.” Potter placed his hands over his ears with exaggerated motions, petulantly mouthing “Happy?”

Draco smirked. “Very.” He turned to the door and whispered, “Splinching”.

The entrance grated open and the thrum of a popular Weird Sisters song spilled out into the hallway. Draco grimaced, head already aching. He grabbed Potter’s hand, the scrape of his Quidditch-calloused skin almost familiar now.

“You made it!”

As soon as Draco entered the room, Pansy shot through the crowd and flung her arms around him. He stumbled at her sudden weight and Potter pressed a hand to his back to steady him, just like he had at the Quidditch match. Apparently Potter’s hero complex, when translated into an every day setting, simply became focused on preventing people from falling on their asses. How helpful.

“Good to see you too, Pans,” he grumbled, smoothing his shirt from where her embrace had crumpled it.

“Potter.” She nodded politely at the Gryffindor, who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Parkinson.”

They stood in an awkward circle for an overlong pause, before Pansy clapped her hands together decisively.

“I’ll go get you boys some drinks!” She chirped, skipping away back into the jostling crowd before either of them had a chance to protest.

Potter fiddled with his hair, tugging his hand through the unruly waves while he stared at the scuffed floor.

“We could go sit somewhere,” Draco offered, gesturing towards the various pieces of common room furniture, which had all been pushed back against the walls to make room for some sort of dance floor.

“Sitting would be good,” Potter agreed, warm relief tinting his gaze.

Sucking in a mental breath, Draco plunged into the crowd, bracing himself against the motions of forgotten elbows and shoulders. A sudden grip on the back of his collar had him almost reflexively casting a hex, before he recognized the warm, calloused touch as Potter’s. It was a smart move, without which Draco was sure he would have lost him, shouts of warning swallowed up by the angry start of another Weird Sisters song.

Against all odds, they managed to make it to the other side of the room, only slightly bruised from their buffeting. Draco collapsed onto a stiff leather couch, forgoing his typical straight posture. Potter attempted to perch on one of the armrests, only to slip on the slick fabric and sprawl into Draco’s lap.

Potter laughed, a faint blush tinging his cheeks as he sat up. “Sorry. The couches aren’t like this in the Gryffindor common room.”

His glasses were embarrassingly crooked from his fall and for some reason, Draco couldn’t look away from them. Someone had charmed strings of lights across the ceiling and the reflection gleamed in small points on Potter’s dull metal frames. The effect was oddly fascinating when combined with Potter’s spiraling green eyes.

“Is there something on my face?” He asked self-consciously, putting a hand up to finally straighten his glasses.

Draco blinked, insides twisting guiltily, although why he could not fathom. His pureblood societal manners prickled at him for his prolonged silence. Mouth moving to give a response before his head could catch up, he casually remarked, “You have nice eyes.”

Potter stared at him, displaying the shock that was ricocheting through Draco’s insides. He opened his mouth to issue a hasty explanation, the substance of which he was not yet sure of himself, when Potter’s eyes suddenly lit up with understanding, his gaze flickering to the various people in their proximity.

“Not as nice as yours. They look like swatches of moonlight.” Potter’s tone was lower than usual, his dirt-common accent suddenly turning lethal and caressing each syllable.

Draco swallowed hard, his head spinning before all the pieces clicked smartly into place. Potter was challenging him! Using that flirtatious voice and absurdly flowery language to put on a show and practically daring Draco to do better. How foolish of him to forget that he was dealing with a Slytherin. Poor Gryffindor had no chance in hell.

He rested his arm along the back of the couch, moving his other hand to trace ambling lines along Potter’s wrist, smirking as the other boy’s fingers twitched at the sudden contact. “I believe yours were once described to be ‘as green as a fresh pickled toad’,” he teased, allowing his own posh clipping to sink into the intonation.

He was rewarded with a darker blush as Potter struggled to sputter out a response, finally settling on, “That was second year. Hardly immortalized words.”

“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Then how come I’m bringing them up now?”

Potter grinned dangerously, suddenly flipping their hands over so that now he was trailing his fingertips across Draco’s skin, sending an odd shiver through him that did not help his still twisting insides. “Because you were infatuated with me since before even then and you were jealous,” Potter pronounced smugly, eyes lighting with triumph.

“Of the Weasley girl? Never,” Draco scoffed, scrambling to come up with a move that would put him back in the lead, trying to focus despite Potter’s fingers, which were now undoing his cufflink with surprising nimbleness so that they could trace farther up his arm.

“What? Scared to admit you were attracted to me even back then?” Potter taunted, leaning in and cupping his hand around Draco’s elbow inside his shirt sleeve.

Draco stared at the lens of Potter’s glasses, where both of their gazes were subtly reflected, blurring into a Slytherin puddle of green and grey, as he fumbled for something biting to say. Something to turn the tables so he could once again be the one with the gloating smirk curled across his lips. It was infuriating to see it on Potter. And even more infuriating to see how well he wore it.

Fury burning through his veins, Draco did something desperate: he kissed Harry Potter.

It was meant to be a brief grazing of lips, something to throw Potter off his game and leave him gaping and shocked so that Draco could have a moment to collect himself before he plunged back in and proceeded to obliterate anything Potter shot at him.

But what Draco had not counted on was how soft Potter’s mouth was. How perfectly it slotted against his own. How his hand automatically reached up to tangle in the back of Potter’s disastrous hair. And most of all, how Potter didn’t immediately jerk back. Quite the opposite in fact, as Potter seemed to lean in as much as Draco was, fisting Draco’s shirt with his free hand and almost humming against his mouth with something that would have been mistaken by anyone else for contentment.

“Oh, sweet Salazar, Draco, you have a dorm room not twenty feet away!”

Starting at the sudden reprimand, Draco hastily pulled back from Potter, feeling a bit dizzy as he gazed up to see Pansy standing over them looking exasperated. “Sorry?” He said uncertainly, glancing over at Potter, whose face was burning as red as his rumpled tie.

She glared pointedly at him. “Now, I don’t know how you do things in Gryffindor, but at Slytherin parties, we keep the public make-out sessions to a minimum. As in, zero. No one here wants to see you and Draco in a desperate lip-lock, so in future, take your urges into his room where the rest of us don’t have to watch.”

Stunned and looking as though only his required Gryffindor bravery was keeping him from quailing under Pansy’s scowl, Potter nodded slowly. “Yes, okay, th-that makes sense.”

“Good.” Satisfied that they had both been sufficiently warned, Pansy dumped the long aforementioned drinks into their laps and walked off, waving to Goyle who was holding up what looked suspiciously like a sobbing Crabbe.

“Well,” Draco began, only to trail off as he realized that, for the first time in his life, he could think of absolutely nothing to say. Instead, he picked up the bottle of fire whiskey that had been thrown at him, using a corner of his unbuttoned sleeve to dab unsuccessfully at the damp patches of condensation that had transferred from the bottle to his pantlegs.

Potter coughed awkwardly. “I think I got blood on your shirt.”

“Excuse me?” Draco turned to stare at him, noting his kiss-swollen lips with more interest than he would like to admit.

“Um, well, when I was undoing it, I sliced my finger on your cufflink, and now it’s probably on your sleeve.” If avoiding eye contact was a sport, Potter would have won every event.

Sure enough, when Draco glanced down, he saw that that the white fabric was splotched with brilliant dots of scarlet in a trail from his wrist to his elbow, reminiscent of the path Potter’s fingers had traced.

“So it is,” he said faintly, falling back against the couch. Spotting a glimpse of silver out of the corner of his eye, he turned and plucked his forgotten cufflink from in between the couch cushions and slipped it into his pocket.

Maybe he would have that drink after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, for some reason, this chapter took a lot of effort to write. I kept stopping and starting and mentally cursing my writer's block, so let me know in the comments if it shows!   
> As always, comments and kudos brighten days and my smile! <3


	6. Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry is distracted, Draco is distracted, and they do something about that distraction. It's just a lot of distraction. But at least it's disclaimed.

A cool breeze buffeted past Harry as he flew slowly above the goal posts. Below, Ron was hovering in place, watching as the three chasers made their approach.

“Remember the pass, Ginny!” Harry shouted.

She nodded slightly and threw the Quaffle across to Demelza, who swooped to the left, before chucking the ball across where Katie smashed it through the right hoop past Ron’s fingertips.

“Brilliant!” Harry whooped, flying down to pluck the Quaffle from its post-goal fall. “Seriously, great work all of you. Head in and get some supper. It’s well-deserved.”

Ginny tipped a mock-salute towards him, grinning. “You too, Captain.”

“I’ll help you clear up, Harry,” Ron said, tugging off his helmet and running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

“Thanks, mate.”

Harry got off of his broom, setting it on the ground beside the worn Quidditch chest that housed the Gryffindor team’s set of balls. He nestled the Quaffle inside, checking that the restraints holding the restless Bludgers were done up tight.

Ron came up beside him, kneeling to help do up the chest’s straps. “Hey, Harry, are you alright? You seemed kind of in your head through practice.”

Harry turned to pick up his broom, hoping that Ron wouldn’t notice the heat rising in his face. He knew he had been distracted during practice, but had hoped that his friend would just chalk it up to lingering nerves about captaining the team. Not to Harry replaying the memory of kissing Draco Malfoy. His soft mouth pressing against Harry’s. The expensive smell of vanilla and cinnamon. The addictive jolt that suddenly whispered through his veins when he touched him, which hummed phantomly whenever Harry conjured the moment in his mind. A jolt that was quickly followed by an equal dose of guilt brought on by the wrongness of it all. It was Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. Still sarcastic, and rude, and intent on fighting Harry on every front. Still one of the people Harry disliked the most.

Besides, it had been part of a competition. He was a Slytherin, which meant he would do anything that gave him an advantage. Even kissing his enemy.

But that didn’t explain why Malfoy had been uncharacteristically silent for the rest of the evening and during every interaction of theirs in the days since.

The whole thing made Harry’s head pound in time to the constant swirl of nausea in his stomach and he gripped the worn handle of his broom tightly as it all swept through him.

“Harry? Really, mate, you look kind of funny,” Ron said worriedly, taking firm hold of his arm as though he might collapse at any moment. “Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey?”

“No, no I’m fine,” Harry assured hurriedly, swinging his broom over his shoulder and grabbing one end-handle on the crate.

Ron took hold of the other one, watching Harry concernedly as they made their way back to the lockers. “Is it Malfoy?”

Harry was so startled that he nearly dropped the trunk on Ron’s foot. “What, no, why would you say that?”

“So it is Malfoy!” Ron glared. “Harry, I know you think pretending to date him is a good idea for some reason, but if he’s hurt you, I swear—”

“No, that’s not it, Ron,” Harry said quickly, seeing the murderously protective glint in his friend’s eyes. “He just, he kissed me.”

“Huh?”

“At the Slytherin party.”

“Oh,” Ron commented blankly.

Harry dropped his broom on the ground, using his now free hand to tug open the locker door. He and Ron awkwardly maneuvered the chest into the storage space, locking the door with a spelled padlock after they finally got it in. They both picked up their own equipment and began stowing it in their lockers.

Ron started humming aimlessly, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to cram his helmet in on top of the rest of his gear. The sound itched at Harry until he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Ron, Malfoy kissed me!”

“I know, I heard you the first time,” Ron said, still shoving at his helmet. “Damn, why won’t it fit? It all did before practice!”

“I don’t think you did hear me,” Harry huffed impatiently, slamming his locker door shut, annoyed at his friend’s indifference. Here he was, trying to confide in his best friend about something that had been agonizing him for days, and Ron couldn’t even be bothered to look at him!

Ron sighed, finally turning to face Harry. “I’m sorry, mate, but didn’t you know this was what you were signing up for with all this fake dating stuff?”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Harry admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But Malfoy’s being really weird about it. I mean, for the rest of the party we just sat there and made stupid small talk whenever someone looked at us funny. And have you noticed how quiet he’s been at meals? He says hello and that’s it!”

“I dunno, Harry,” Ron shrugged helplessly. “Well, how did it come about? The, err, kiss?”

Harry felt his face begin to flush as his mind immediately brought up soft skin and strangely burning touches and stormy grey eyes that he was used to seeing only scorn in. “Um,” he coughed, suddenly unable to meet Ron’s gaze. “It started as a kind of competition thing, with flirting I guess, and we would each try to one-up each other and then out of nowhere he just kissed me. And then Parkinson got after us because apparently Slytherins are far more publicly prudish than we thought and he’s been acting strange ever since.”

Ron leaned up against his locker, frowning. “Did you ever talk about kissing being part of the act?”

Harry shook his head. “No, just holding hands and going places together really. I mean, it probably would have come up at some point, but it wasn’t planned at all.” And neither was his absurd reaction to it. He wasn’t supposed to bloody enjoy kissing Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t supposed to get so distracted thinking about kissing Malfoy that he almost got hit in the head by a Bludger. He wasn’t supposed to think about how the next time Malfoy inevitably said something glitteringly pretentious he wanted to shut him up by pressing him up against a wall and kissing him again.

Ron hummed ponderously, snapping Harry out of his guilty reverie. “Maybe Malfoy is acting so strangely because he thinks he took the act too far and you’re planning to hex him for kissing you. I mean, it’s a fair assumption. I was half-wondering it myself.” He shrugged, grinning apologetically.

That would make sense. It’s what Harry’s reaction should have been to the unplanned advance. Not a wild desire for a repeat performance. Just because comparing it to Harry’s first kiss made him want to laugh at the absurdity of even calling them by the same name didn’t justify his response. Just because it evoked darkening eyes and gasping breaths instead of tears and crumpled faces didn’t mean he should be daydreaming about his nemesis’s lips.

But Harry didn’t dare voice any of this, not even to Ron.

“That would make sense,” he agreed instead.

“’Course it does,” Ron said cheerily, clapping him on the shoulder. “And now that we’ve got that sorted, let’s book it to the dining hall! I’m starving!”

Harry trailed after him outside, where it had started to rain slightly, the droplets peppering the lenses of his glasses. “But—”

Ron groaned, throwing his hands up into the air. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Harry! If you’re so worried, just bloody talk to the git about it! Just preferably not at dinner, so the rest of us can eat in peace without your drama! I’d rather like to eat my food without worrying about getting hit by a stray hex.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea, Ron, thanks. I think I will.” If Malfoy would just tell him why he was acting so funny, then he could stop worrying about that and devote all his attention to worrying about his troubling new desire to snog him.

“Any time, mate,” Ron said wearily, trudging up the path towards the castle. “But now can we please go before there’s no dinner left?”

“I think we’ll be just fine.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Oh Merlin.”

***

Draco scowled at his textbook. He had spent the last ten minutes reading the same paragraph over and over and still couldn’t repeat the information if his life depended on it. Potter was dramatically late for their nightly library study sessions and it was disconcerting.

At least that’s what Draco tried to tell himself. And while Potter’s lateness was partially responsible for his lack of concentration, it unfortunately had more to do with that damn kiss. It was not the first time the competitiveness of his ambition had gotten him into trouble, but it certainly had resulted in the worse consequences. Laborious detentions were nothing compared to having thoughts of Potter’s annoyingly soft lips constantly looping through his head. During class, at meals, and while studying. He could barely say a word to Potter without his attention getting snagged on his mouth instead of the casual responses coming out of it.

Merlin, if only he’d been a Hufflepuff, living without a jot of ambition! Then he wouldn’t be in this situation!

Shuddering at the realization that he had been brought so low as to wish he were a Hufflepuff, Draco stubbornly fixated on the page again. The black print seemed to wobble, becoming unintelligible.

Seething with frustration, Draco slammed the book shut, just as a panting Potter slid into the seat across from him.

“Sorry, I was playing chess with Ron and lost track of the time,” he said apologetically, running an absent-minded hand through his hair as he dumped his own textbooks onto the table.

Draco dropped his gaze to his own textbook, reopening it. “It’s fine,” he said stiffly, pretending to skim the page, which still blurred as determinedly as before.

“Right, well, still sorry.”

Draco could see Potter fidgeting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. He seemed more skittish than usual tonight. Peculiar.

“Mmhm.” Draco acknowledged, head still bent over his textbook as he desperately stared at the seemingly nonsensical words coating it.

Potter faltered, before smartly giving up on any more pretensive small talk. Instead, he got out a battered quill and a stained inkwell, setting them beside his textbook.

Draco tried his best to ignore the Gryffindor, squinting at his own text and sending up silent prayers to Merlin himself that he would be able to focus on actually studying.

But it was no use. As soon as Draco was able to get the slightest bit absorbed, Potter would shift in his seat or cough or turn a page with what seemed like deafening levels of noise. It was impossible.

Resigned to his fate, Draco allowed his impeccable control to slip and let himself snatch glances at Potter. Who had of course started to bite his lip in concentration, drawing Draco’s eye to the one thing he was so anxious to avoid thinking about. Surprising warmth. The smell of cheap shampoo and nutty broom polish. The edge of his glasses pressing against Draco’s cheek. A faint sweetness lingering on his lips from the treacle tart at dinner.

Draco could feel a blush rising in his face and ducked his head back down, cursing his tell-tale paleness.

Suddenly, Potter’s foot smacked into his leg under the table and Draco was only just able to swallow the string of curses he wanted to spill, remembering their public setting.

“Sorry!” Potter laughed nervously, gaze fixating anywhere but Draco’s face.

Draco didn’t dare stare too long at the other boy, fearing that if he did, he’d end up doing something stupid like grabbing his red and gold tie and yanking him into a kiss. Stupid like allowing himself to momentarily forget how annoying and idiotic and pathetic Potter was in favour of repeating the instance that had become branded in his mind.

“It’s _fine_ , Potter,” he muttered.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll try to be more carefu— oh, shit!” Potter’s eyes widened as he knocked over his open inkwell, spilling the dark liquid across the table.

“Sweet Salazar, Potter!” Draco groaned, casting a hasty ‘scourgify’ to sop up the spreading puddle.

“Merlin, I’m sorry! I don’t know why— actually, no, I do,” Potter smiled wanly, embarrassed, something sharp glittering in his gaze. “Can I talk to you?”

Draco frowned. “What does is it look like we’re doing right now? Playing Quidditch?”

Potter sighed, getting up from his chair. “I meant somewhere more private. I’d rather we didn’t have an audience for this.”

Curious. Draco nodded, slipping out of his seat and following Potter, who had disappeared behind one of the large bookshelves. He wove a path to the very back of the library, which Draco thought seemed a bit extreme for a quick chat.

“You better have a good reason for interrupting my studying, Potter,” Draco said, leaning back against a bookshelf. Not that he was actually getting any done. But in a round about way, that was Potter’s fault too, being such an annoyingly good kisser. Draco angrily shoved the thought back, focusing on Potter, who was pacing in a short length across the floor.

He stopped abruptly, staring right at Draco. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“Excuse me, but I believe _you_ were the one who dragged _me_ back here,” Draco pointed out.

“Not now, Malfoy,” Potter said exasperatedly. “I meant how you’ve been so oddly quiet for the past couple days.”

Draco’s stomach sank. Of course the one time he most needed Potter to be an oblivious Gryffindor he decided to actually pay attention. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter.”

“I’m not!” He insisted. “Is something going on?”

“Sweet Salazar, you’re not my mother!” Draco sneered. “I know you have some sort of hero’s complex, but I didn’t know it extended to making up situations so you can pretend to save people from them!”

Potter scowled, stepping towards him. “I know something’s going on, so why don’t you just tell me so we can have this over with?”

“There is no ‘this’!” Draco spat.

“Liar.” Potter’s eyes gleamed brightly as he stared determinedly at him. Draco hated how he noticed the flecks of gold woven through the vibrant green.

“How dare you—” Draco began, but Potter interrupted him.

“I know I should have expected this from a Slytherin, but you are being downright cowardly!”

“Just because I prefer not to tell reporters my every thought so they’ll put my name up on the front page doesn’t make me a coward!” Draco said spitefully, enjoying the flinch Potter tried to hide.

“You know that those stories weren’t from me!”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Potter glowered darkly. “Well, at least I have the courage to own up to it when I kiss someone!”

Draco gaped at him, spluttering. “W-what?”

“You have barely been able to look in me in the eye for the past few days,” Potter said fiercely, coming so close that Draco automatically reached for his wand in case he tried to punch him like Granger had in third year. But his hand closed on air. He gulped when he realized he must have left it back on the table.

“Is that what you do, kiss people and then ignore them?” And then Potter suddenly leaned in and lightly kissed him on the mouth, the burning touch startling Draco so much that he stepped back into the bookshelf, knocking a few tombs to the floor.

“What, Malfoy, are you going to run away now?” Potter demanded, the taunting effect slightly undone by his obviously flushed skin.

“Slytherins are strategic, but we’re not idiots,” he muttered, before grabbing the front of Potter’s robes and tugging him back against him into a kiss that was a lot more desperate than he liked to admit.

Kissing Potter conjured the same heated spark he felt when they fought. Only instead of being fueled by pointed remarks and clever jabs, it was lit by coaxing touches and soft skin and the startling addictive smell of Potter’s cheap soap. Each brush of lips felt as though it left scars in its wake and Draco finally admitted that he didn’t want it to end. But one thing needed to be set straight.

“I still hate you,” he said, reluctantly pulling back an inch, still tightly gripping Potter’s robes.

“Oh, absolutely,” Potter agreed breathlessly, quickly closing the gap again. “Just hormones.”

“Right,” Draco murmured against his mouth, the reassuring thought quelling his nerves. “Just hormones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . now that's a thing.   
> I'll have you know that when I first came up with the idea for this fic, it was NOT supposed to include TWO common tropes as large plot points, yet here I am, writing a fake/relationship, friends (really enemies but there's sadly no tag) with partial benefits fic. I do promise to balance out the surprising amount of tropiness with more original stuff, but who am I kidding? If you clicked on this fic, it was probably FOR the tropiness! Let me know in the comments so I can be a little more assured that I am not an entirely crazy and self-indulgent fangirl!  
> And as always, any other comments you would like to leave, as well as kudos, make my day! Just like Queer Eye and Panic! At the Disco. ;)


	7. Suppose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco is a Slytherin for the Greater Good and is mysterious.

Harry found it horribly disconcerting how much he enjoyed kissing Draco Malfoy. And yet, every time he and Malfoy were by themselves and he had the opportunity to bring up how they really shouldn’t be doing this, they inevitably would end up snogging again and Harry would forget everything but his name. And sometimes even that was hit or miss.

At least his friends hadn’t yet realized that something strange was up. Ron and Hermione were even starting to get used to Malfoy. He and Hermione managed to have several civil conversations about various assignments and while Ron had gotten into a furious debate with him over England’s new Seeker, afterwards he had quietly admitted to Harry that Malfoy had been right. It was an altogether jarring turn of events and the whole thing made Harry feel quite dizzy and unsure.

Even just now, Malfoy was sitting outside with them under the drooping willow tree by the edge of the lake. Harry had dragged him with them for the optics of it, but now Malfoy was having a genuine conversation with Hermione about a book he had referenced the other day, which she had found in the depths of the library. Harry still felt impossibly odd every time he glimpsed their blond and brown heads bent over the pages from the corner of his eye.

“Harry!” Ron called impatiently. “C’mon, mate! Throw it again!”

Harry turned back to face Ron, who was bouncing restlessly on his toes several meters away. He watched Harry expectantly, nodding towards the Quaffle in his hands.

Obliging, Harry tossed the red ball at Ron’s right shoulder. His friend batted frantically at it, but only succeeded in clipping it and sending it further over his shoulder.

“Damn!” Ron cursed, kicking the ball hard, sending up clods of dirt with his frustration. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! We’ve been out here for half an hour and I haven’t managed to do that move once!”

“Sorry, Ron, I dunno. It looks to me like you’re doing all the preparatory steps right,” Harry said sympathetically, scooping up the Quaffle and attempting to dust off a portion of the surface.

Ron growled. “Well, obviously not or I’d be making the saves! I was able to do it a lot more easily on an actual broom. Hey, can you schedule an extra team practice for this Saturday so I can practice with the Chasers?”

Harry shook his head. “Can’t. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, remember?”

The implication of his words sunk in.

“Hey, Malfoy!” He called, turning towards the base of the willow tree where he was seated. “We’re going to Hogsmeade together this weekend!”

Malfoy frowned, looking up from the book. “What? Why do we have to go together?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Because we’re supposed to be a couple!”

“Right,” Malfoy said glumly, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. “You know, couples don’t have to do everything together! Us doing separate things for the Hogsmeade weekend will make it seem more authentic!”

“But we already are separate for most of our classes,” Harry pointed out, walking over to sit next to the Slytherin.

“I guess,” Malfoy’s eyes suddenly widened and he glared accusingly at Harry. “Wait, this isn’t because you’ve set us up on some stupid double date with Granger and Weasley, is it?”

Ron, who had made his way over to the rest of them and was idly tossing the Quaffle back and forth between his two hands, dropped it at Malfoy’s words and made a sort of choking noise. At first, it appeared that Hermione had a far more composed reaction, but when Harry glanced over, he saw that she was blushed furiously behind her book, which she had lifted up to directly cover her face.

Malfoy smirked, delightedly taking in their obvious reactions to the insinuation. “Sweet Salazar, you mean you two aren’t together?” He said innocently.

It was one of the hardest battles Harry had ever fought to keep from laughing outright as he watched Ron sputter like a boiling tea kettle.

“No, we’re not,” Hermione finally said, obviously seeing that Ron wasn’t going to be able to form a coherent response any time soon.

“Really?” Malfoy raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“That’s right,” Ron managed, gulping hard and blinking back tears from his coughing fit.

“Bullshit,” Malfoy pronounced smugly and Harry feared that he may have cracked a couple of ribs trying not to laugh at the gobsmacked expressions of both of his friends’ faces. This was better entertainment than the Quidditch World Cup.

“Excuse me?” Hermione squeaked.

“Honestly, I’m a Slytherin, not an idiot!” Malfoy scoffed, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. “I’ve seen how you two look at each when you think the other won’t notice. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve eaten at least one meal a day with you for the past couple weeks and during that time, I’ve had to watch you stare at each other like you’re Christmas dinner and a rare manuscript respectively!”

“Hermione’s my friend,” Ron said stubbornly.

“The kind of friend where you want to put your tongue in their mouth,” Malfoy retorted bluntly.

Better than the kind of enemy where you want to put your tongue in their mouth, Harry thought wryly.

Ron was back to sputtering, while Hermione was gripping the edges of her book so tightly Harry thought she might actually take something back to the library in worse condition than she got it for the first time in her life.

“Oh, honestly! If Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter can date, surely two people who are already friends can!” Malfoy said exasperatedly, tugging a hand through his now formerly neat hair. The sight of his wayward locks did funny things to Harry’s insides and he suddenly wished that he and Malfoy were alone so he could mess it up further while snatching teasing kisses from his mouth. Good Godric, the place his mind had become!

“But that example doesn’t work because you and Harry aren’t actually dating!” Ron said triumphantly.

Malfoy waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t matter. But what does is that I have to spend large portions of the next month around you both and I promise you that it will all be a hell of a lot easier for everyone if you idiots just get over yourselves and go out, for Merlin’s sake!”

Ron frowned, fiddling with the ends of his overlong robe sleeves (a hand-me-down from a longer limbed brother) as he tried to think of a worthy response.

“Fine,” Hermione said suddenly, slapping her book shut. “Ron and I will go to Hogsmeade together.”

And with that, she stood up and marched back towards the castle, Ron gaping at her before quickly getting to his feet and running after her, robes billowing in the wind.

Harry’s gaze flitted between them and Malfoy, who was smirking smugly and smoothing out imaginary creases from his shirt.

“I’m in awe,” Harry said finally, shaking his head in bewilderment. He had been pushing and coaxing his blushing friends towards each other since the beginning of the term and one pointed conversation with Draco Malfoy and they were going on a date.

“I’m a Slytherin,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly as he leaned in within inches of Harry’s mouth, dark eyes glittering headily as he heard Harry’s resulting sharp intake of breath. His words ghosted over his lips before he finally crashed down onto them. “And we always have a way.”

***

“I can’t believe that we have to go to Hogsmeade together!”

Pansy rolled her eyes, not even sparing a glance up from her textbook at Draco’s outburst. “Draco darling, I believe the proper term for not wanting to go out with your boyfriend is ‘rude’.”

Draco gritted his teeth, pacing closer to her chair so that the entire bustling common room didn’t hear his next words. “But that means that I can’t go off and go to, ahem, you know.”

“Just bring Potter with you,” she suggested calmly, flicking a page over.

“I can’t do that, he doesn’t know about _it_!” Draco hissed, falling into the chair beside her, for once forgoing his prim posture in favour of really communicating to Pansy how much of a problem this was.

She finally looked up from her book, frowning. “You said you two had been dating for awhile though, and it hasn’t come up?”

“Well, we never were able to go to Hogsmeade together before, so I didn’t think it seemed relevant,” Draco explained, swinging his feet off the edge of the chair moodily.

“I don’t see why you’re so worried, he cares about you, you’ll be fine.”

Draco sighed. “Really, Pans? You do know what my family is like? Hell, what I was like until this past summer!”

“It doesn’t matter what the school thinks,” Pansy said firmly. “Only what Potter thinks, and he knows the truth.”

“Right.” Draco’s stomach sank slightly. But the thing was, Potter _didn’t_ know the truth.

“Alright then, you’ve got nothing to worry about!” Pansy soothed, going back to her book.

Draco gnawed at his lip. “I don’t know . . . maybe I don’t much care about _it_ anymore.”

Pansy stared at him, head tilted to the side, smirking.

“Alright, fine!” Draco burst. “It’s because I know he’s going to give me shit for it!”

“That’s right,” Pansy smiled widely, eyes glimmering evilly.

Draco groaned, collapsing back into the chair again. “What happened to Supportive Pansy and ‘you’ve got nothing to worry about’?”

She shrugged, still grinning. “Realistic Pansy broke through and remembered that this is still Potter we’re talking about and that he is going to mock you mercilessly for this, boyfriend or not! I just wish I could be there to see it. Perhaps we could sneak into old Dumbledore’s office and snatch a moment with that Pensieve,”

“No,” Draco said sharply, shuddering at the thought of having to relive Potter’s inevitably bashing

“Ah well, you’ll just have to tell me about it in great detail!”

“Sweet Salazar, what am I going to do?” Draco wracked his brains, frantic for an alternative.

“Well, you could just not go this month,” Pansy suggested idly, jotting down a passage from a page.

“It’s been weeks since the last Hogsmeade weekend though,” he mourned. “I don’t think I can wait until after Christmas break.”

“If that’s the case then, just get over yourself, endure the mocking, and do it!” Pansy said firmly, finishing her note with a flourish.

“I guess that’s all there is to do,” Draco admitted gloomily. Merlin, Potter was never going to let him live this one down!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the intrigue! What is Draco talking about? What is Harry going to mock him over? Tune in next week to find out! ;)  
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


	8. Imagine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ron and Hermione FINALLY get together, Draco shares a few secrets, and Harry tries and fails to keep a straight face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter ended up being about a thousand words over my intended weekly word count, but I’m going with it! So, enjoy this accidental treat!

Harry stifled a yawn, and took another bite of his toast. Ron had been so nervous about his approaching date with Hermione that he had barely been able to eat a thing at breakfast, sitting down for only a minute before dragging Harry, who had quickly snagged a piece of toast, back upstairs to watch Ron tread a hole in the floor with all of his pacing. If Ron was willingly skipping a meal, Harry knew it was serious.

“But what am I going to say to her?” Ron fretted, staring frantically at Harry.

“The same thing you do every time you see her,” Harry said soothingly. “You’ll ask how she is and ask about school and then she’ll get started and you only have to nod encouragingly or say some words of affirmation every so often and you’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Ron gulped. “Okay, yeah, I can do that.”

“You’ll be fine, mate,” Harry said encouragingly, swallowing the last bit of his toast and brushing the crumbs off of his crimson sheets.

“Just ask about school,” Ron muttered to himself, wiping his palms on his pants anxiously. “Ask about school. Okay, thanks Harry. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry eyed his friend apprehensively, wondering if he was stable enough to leave alone, before reluctantly grabbing his coat and making his way out of the dorm. “See you down there.”

Harry wound down the staircase into the common room, which was only habited by some first and second years studying and an uncharacteristically unsteady looking Hermione Granger. She appeared to be mumbling to herself and staring fixatedly at the fireplace, swinging her legs in mismatched beats.

He cautiously sat down beside her. “Hey there, Hermione. How are you doing?”

“Not well, Harry,” she snapped, turning towards him, her face pale. “I don’t know why I was so foolish as to agree to this.”

“You weren’t foolish,” Harry insisted. “You’re just nervous. If it helps, Ron is a complete wreck.”

“Really?” She almost smiled, shaking her head. “Poor Ron.”

“Once you get talking, you’ll be alright. It’s Ron, for Merlin’s sake! You’ve known each other for years. You just want to get to know each other in a different way now.” Harry reached out and squeezed her hand.

Hermione nodded, legs finally stilling their nervous motion. “Like you and Malfoy.”

Harry coughed, blushing slightly. “Err, well not quite, because, you know, it’s—”

“Hermione?”

Harry was mercifully cut off as Ron appeared beside them, shifting from foot to foot, but managing to look Hermione in the face with minimal blushing. She pinked, but stood, smiling as she took in his tidied hair and freshly laundered sweater.

“Hi, Ron,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he breathed, grinning.

Harry waited while they both blatantly stared at the other, until he couldn’t take it any longer. “Alright, we better get on our way! Plenty of time for that later when I don’t have to be present!”

Ron offered a gentlemanly arm and Hermione took it and Harry trailed behind them as they slowly made their way down through the castle to the front doors, murmuring so quietly to each other that their words were unintelligible, something that Harry was rather grateful for. Just because he wanted his friends to be happy together didn’t mean that he wanted to be directly privy to all of that happiness.

Malfoy was waiting by the doors, wearing a scowl and an expensive-looking black peacoat. Harry had never seen Malfoy not wear robes or his school uniform and the effect was more intoxicating than he liked to admit, even when paired with his dark frown. Maybe especially with his dark frown.

“What took you so long?” Malfoy complained, falling into step with Harry as Ron and Hermione walked out into the crisp late November air, now shyly holding hands.

Harry sighed. “Let’s just say that Gryffindor bravery is not a 24/7 thing.”

Malfoy smirked, casually looping his arm through Harry’s as they came into sight of Hogsmeade and the crowds of students bustling through the streets. “So I was right all along.”

“Sure Malfoy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The little wizarding village looked like something out of one of Dudley’s old picture books. Each storefront twinkled warmly, spotlighting its wares, and the upcoming holiday season was heralded in every nook and cranny, with spicy green wreaths and cheerful lights decorating what seemed like every inch of the small town. The whole atmosphere filled Harry with a lightheartedness he hadn’t felt in awhile and he met grinning passersby with a beaming smile of his own.

Malfoy snorted, but for once said nothing disparaging, to Harry’s surprise.

The group stopped at one of the main crossroads, Ron and Hermione edging closer towards the street that led to the Three Broomsticks.

“Well, I guess we’ll see you back at the castle,” Ron said finally, glancing down at Hermione for confirmation that they actually were intentionally splitting off on their own for a date.

“See you,” She said, waving at Harry as she and Ron turned to hurry over to the welcoming pub, the lighted windows promising shelter from the bitter wind sweeping down the narrow streets.

“So,” Harry said, biting back a shiver as he and Malfoy began to walk down aimlessly down the street in the opposite direction. “What do you want to do?”

“How do you feel about a bit of an adventure?” Malfoy glanced over at him, eyes gleaming despite his nonchalant tone.

“An adventure?”

“What, scared, Potter?”

They shared a begrudging smile at the memory and Harry shrugged, still grinning slightly. “You wish.”

***

“Okay, when you said adventure, I wasn’t thinking break into someone’s house!” Harry hissed, huddling against the brick wall of the small flat Malfoy had dragged him over to.

“Are you trying to get us caught, Potter?” Malfoy huffed, stooping in front of a door with chipped purple paint and drawing out his wand, muttering a soft ‘alohomora’. He gently twisted the handle and the door swung open, letting a wave of warmth out into the blustering alleyway.

Harry watched as Malfoy disappeared inside, poking his head back out moments later.

“Come on!” He said impatiently, beckoning for Harry to follow him.

Reluctantly, Harry stumbled over the doorstep into what looked to be a living room, filled with squat, cozy, overstuffed furniture all gathered around a large fire place. Malfoy was standing next to the flames, tugging a small bag out of one of his coat’s pockets.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded, wincing at every creak his boots made as he trod across the old floorboards towards Malfoy.

“Hold out your hand,” Malfoy ordered, tipping the bag over top of his own palm. Something silvery fell out, coating his pale skin.

“What?”

“Merlin,” Malfoy sighed, grabbing one of Harry’s cold-chapped hands and dumping a small portion of the metallic stuff into it. “You’ve traveled by Floo before, yes?”

“Yeah, once or twice, but I don’t really think we’re allowed—” Harry began, trying not to breath too hard on the soft silvery stuff in his hand, which he now recognized as Floo powder.

“Right, well, I’ll go first and then you follow,” Malfoy said briskly, stepping closer to the fire place. “The address is 67 Meadowes Lane. What is the address?”

“67 Meadowes Lane,” Harry repeated automatically. “But Malfoy, I don’t think that—”

But before Harry could get another word out, Malfoy threw his handful of powder into the flames, which immediately turned a violent green colour, and, ducking his head down, stepped into them and shouted clearly “67 Meadowes Lane!” promptly vanishing in a swirl of emerald fire.

Gaping, Harry stared at the fire, which had now reverted back to its normal hue.

“Hello? Is someone there?” A quivering voice suddenly called out from another room and footsteps sounded against the floorboards.

Panic flashed through Harry and suddenly he found himself flinging the Floo powder into the fire and jumping in after it, clipping his head on the overhanging stone edge. “67 Meadowes Lane!”

Harry screwed his eyes closed, remembering his past mishaps with Floo travel, pain still ringing through his head from bashing it on the top of the fire place.

Abruptly, his feet connected with something, the impact tripping him, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself sprawled across scuffed wooden floorboards.

“Merlin, Potter, what took you so long?” Suddenly Malfoy was there, the familiarity of his annoyance and expensive spiced cologne strangely comforting after Harry’s stomach-turning Floo trip.

Malfoy tugged him up to his feet, the sudden motion causing Harry’s vision to swim for a moment before steadying again as he took in his surroundings. They were standing in front of a large, ash-streaked fire place, situated along a wall in an oddly bare room. There were no furnishings, only a few rusted nails and hooks dotting the stained walls. The air was absolutely freezing and each of their breaths hung like smoke long after they had issued it.

“Where are we?” Harry asked, walking over to peer out of one of the cracked windows that lined the adjacent wall. Outside, a long field went up to a narrow strip of road, the grey pavement dark against the surrounding frost-yellowed grass.

“Old house just outside of a small Muggle town,” Malfoy said conversationally, joining Harry at the window. “Wizarding family used to live here but it’s been abandoned for awhile and the Ministry hasn’t removed the Floo Network entrance yet. I come out here on Hogsmeade weekends to get away from it all and just have some peace and quiet. Well,” he sighed. “And for another reason too. Come on. Might as well get it over with.”

Harry followed as the Slytherin walked out from the room, leading him through the house, which was just as barren as the room they had come in. Finally, Malfoy stopped in front of a door, hand resting lightly on the tarnished handle. He looked at Harry, biting his lip with something that almost looked like . . . nervousness? Whatever it was, it made Harry’s breath quicken and his heartbeat pound a little harder.

He stepped forward, kissing Malfoy gently, sliding an arm around his waist. A soft heat ran through his veins as Malfoy leaned into him, deepening the kiss and tugging him closer, hands curling into his hair. Harry pushed forward, knocking Malfoy back against the door as the former gentleness dissolved into the coaxing flames that appeared whenever they touched, still shocking in their potency.

“Potter,” Malfoy gasped, pushing him back slightly, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I did bring you here for a reason beyond snogging you senseless.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, of course,” Harry said, stepping further back and shoving his hands in his jean’s pockets, blushing. “Go ahead, please.”

“Thanks,” Malfoy’s eyes glittered with amusement. He stepped out from the door, once again placing a hand on the knob. “Right, well, as I was going to say before you, erm, _interrupted_ , I brought you here— well, really, I didn’t particularly want to bring you here, but it was the only way that I got to come here— That is to say that, I like coming here every so often to— Well, every so often is perhaps the wrong way to put it, every Hogsmeade weekend is more accurate, because, well—”

“Yes, Malfoy?” Harry prompted, grinning at the Slytherin’s obvious discomfort.

Malfoy scowled. “Oh, fuck this, Potter! Just, see for yourself.”

And with that, Malfoy finally opened the door.

At first, Harry tried to keep a straight face, he really did. But once he stepped through the entrance, he couldn’t help himself any longer. He burst out laughing.

“You have a car!” He gasped, still hardly believing what he was seeing.

Malfoy sighed wearily. “Yes, Potter. I, Draco Malfoy, own a Muggle car.”

“It’s yellow!”

“Okay, that part is not my fault!” Malfoy insisted loudly, pointing accusingly at the car as if it were to blame. “I ordered a black one but the dealership got it mixed up and by that point, Father and Mother were already getting suspicious over my first disappearance from Diagon Alley during school shopping, and so I didn’t dare sneak away to find one of those Muggle fellytones and so I ended up with a yellow car!”

“You used a telephone?” Harry crowed, grinning from ear to ear. This just kept getting better and better! He still remembered the time that Ron had tried to call him on the phone at the Dursleys’ and now the thought of Malfoy screaming through a phone at a helpless salesman about his yellow car was running through his head and he genuinely thought he might die from laughing.

“Good to know I was right about you handling this so maturely,” Malfoy said drily.

“Right, because this situation was to be completely expected,” Harry deadpanned, leaning against the car as he caught his breath. “I always knew that someday Draco Malfoy would kidnap me and take me to the place where he stored his bright yellow car.”

“Ha ha, very funny, Potter,” Malfoy groaned, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. “Look, if you don’t want to come along for the drive, you don’t have t—”

“No!” Harry cut him off quickly. “I want to come for the drive!”

“Fine. Then get in the car and if I hear one more joke!” Malfoy slammed his door shut behind him, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

Harry ran around the back of the car, swinging into the passenger seat and trying without success to wipe the smile off of his face.

Malfoy gritted his teeth as he secured his seatbelt. “What is it, Potter?”

“It’s just, it’s the,” he coughed, trying to disguise the chuckle that had slipped out. “The snake sticker that you have on the back?”

“Oh, shut up!”

***

Malfoy turned out to be a surprisingly steady driver, coasting down the long narrow roads with the ease that he handled a broomstick.

At the beginning of the drive, Harry kept snorting every few minutes, so Malfoy, to his great astonishment, instructed him to rummage in the glove compartment and put on a CD. The itch to comment tore mercilessly at Harry, but with one glare from Malfoy, he silently slipped in the first one he grabbed, once again shocked as Freddy Mercury’s voice began projecting through the vehicle.

Harry was fascinated to watch as Malfoy hummed along, eyes flicking consistently between his various sets of mirrors, even though they had yet to pass another car. He was relaxed in a way that Harry had never seen before, a small smile quirking over the corners of his mouth.

“So, am I allowed to ask why?” Harry ventured finally, reaching out and turning down the music a few decimals.

“Are you going to laugh?” Malfoy retorted smoothly.

“I won’t, promise,” Harry said, meaning it. He sensed that whatever was behind all of this wasn’t something to be flippant about. And even if it was, it obviously made Malfoy happy, and even with their complex past, Harry wasn’t going to tear that away from him.

“Alright, well, it started with the Trials,” Malfoy let out a long breath, settling back into his seat.

Harry nodded. He had spent his whole summer at the Burrow hearing about little else. The whole wizarding world was abuzz over the trials for the remaining Death Eaters left after Dumbledore defeated Voldemort in the duel at the Ministry. The same night Sirius died, his life one of the last taken by Voldemort’s cruel regime.

“As you know, my,” Malfoy faltered, before pushing on determinedly. “My father was one of those waiting for his sentence. He ended up with three months in Azkaban and extensive monetary compensation. But in the mean time, my parents decided to send me to summer with a cousin who lived on the edge of a small French Muggle town.”

“I didn’t know that,” Harry said, gazing at the other boy’s sharp profile as he shrugged.

“Why would you? It’s not like we’ve ever been especially close,” he let out a short laugh at the irony, his blunt words stinging slightly for some reason, despite their truth. “Anyhow, I was angry and confused. My whole life I had been told that certain things were true and now I didn’t know what to believe in. Not to mention that I had grown to befriend some Muggles who lived in town. That’s how I got introduced to cars and Queen.”

“Your introduction to Muggle music could have been far worse,” Harry agreed, smiling at the gleam that had entered Malfoy’s eyes at the mention of the band.

He sobered, hands tightening on the wheel. “And that’s when I realized that . . . all these things that I had been told to believe . . . didn’t really matter. That really, me and them weren’t so different after all. Sure, I can use magic, but did you know that Muggles have gone to the Moon?”

“Several times, actually,” Harry added, grinning at Malfoy’s fascination.

He shook his head in amazement. “Merlin.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, music playing quietly in the background.

“Thank you for telling me,” Harry said finally, looking back over at Malfoy.

The other boy simply nodded, eyes still fixated on the road stretching out in a seemingly endless loop in front of them.

Harry settled back against his seat, feeling oddly at home in this moment that he never would have foreseen happening for multiple reasons. Yet here he was, listening to Draco Malfoy sing ‘Somebody to Love’ under his breath after confessing his complete transformation of beliefs in a startlingly yellow car.

But the day’s surprises weren’t over yet.

“I wore jeans,” Malfoy abruptly blurted.

Harry threw back his head and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully my alternative Voldemort vanquishing made sense! I basically just ignored the whole Horcrux thing for the ease of it all.  
> Also, from my limited research on the UK’s drivers license regulations, it appears that you can’t drive a car until you’re 17, which Draco is not in this story, so I had to modify that a bit as well.  
> I wanted Draco to be listening to Panic! At the Disco or Fallout Boy or something, like the confusingly angsty yet refined teen we all know he is, but since this is supposed to be set during the late ‘90s, I couldn’t justify yet another bending of the rules of reality for this fic, so I went with Queen instead.  
> I really enjoyed reading all of your guesses as to what Draco’s secret was and I hope that it did not disappoint, although I for one think that some of your guesses were better than my planned one!  
> Also dealing with the recent news that Daniel Radcliffe was spotted visiting my province in the past two weeks! He was seen some place not even a half hour away from where I live, so we're probably in the closest proximity we'll ever be in and yet I still haven't had the luck to run into him!  
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated! I love hearing what you think about Harry and Draco’s escapades and look forward to hearing what you think about what’s to come!


	9. Imitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry loves his friends, but gets a bit tired of them, Ron and Hermione live in their own world, and Pansy triumphs over all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy back-to-school to y'all! If you're anything like me, you're already ready to abandon your actual studies in favour of spending time in the world where Hogwarts - the school you actually should be going to - exists! And I am glad to be doing my part to hopefully help provide content for your escapes!

Harry slid into his seat at breakfast. “Morning,” he said, directing the greeting across the table at Ron and Hermione, whose heads were bent together as they discussed something.

“Hey, Harry,” Hermione said quickly, before turning back to Ron and what one might have supposed to be a riveting conversation, given how wrapped up in it they seemed to be, when Harry really knew that it was likely about something as mundane as their upcoming Charms test.

Knowing that this was all the acknowledgement he was going to get, Harry began filling his plate.

He had thought that his life had been difficult when his two best friends were dancing around each other like oblivious idiots. However, now that Ron and Hermione were finally together, after a very successful Hogsmeade date, it was almost worse. Whenever they were all together, he couldn’t get a word in edgewise and more often than not, they would accidentally end up forgetting he was even there. This meant that Harry had been privy to the beginnings of more make-out sessions than he ever wanted to have been. Sometimes he would just take off his glasses, that way his friends just looked like colourful blobs and he could pretend that they weren’t in the process of sticking their tongues down each other’s throats.

Even now, they had their hands interlaced on the table, set in between their bowls of oatmeal. At least the sight of Ron learning how to use a cutlery with his left hand was entertaining, although Harry didn’t see why they just didn’t hold hands while they were eating. He was glad that they were happy together, but that seemed a bit extreme.

Surprisingly, it was Malfoy who had made these many recent awkward moments even slightly bearable. While Ron and Hermione stared into each other’s eyes, he and Harry would talk about class or Quidditch, his presence preventing Harry from constantly playing the third wheel.

But this morning, he was late, leaving Harry to fend for himself and stare fixedly at his food while his friends giggled and blushed and flirted with all the elegance of pubescent Mandrakes.

“Oh, hey, Harry!” Ron said, suddenly noticing him.

“Hey, mate,” Harry said, nodding towards him as he spread raspberry jam across his toast.

“Up for another chess tournament?” Ron asked eagerly between mouthfuls of porridge, some oats sticking to the side of his mouth due to his still unfortunate lack of coordination using his left hand.

“Actually, Ron, maybe we could play a game that we can all participate in at once?” Hermione suggested, easily shaking some brown sugar onto her oatmeal with her free right hand.

“I guess we could do Exploding Snap,” Ron amended.

Hermione frowned lightly. “We’ve been playing that one a lot recently too.”

Harry nodded his agreement. The edges of his eyebrows still hadn’t grown back after their last match and Malfoy kept commenting on it. Said that the sharp angles clashed with his lightening scar, whatever that was supposed to mean.

“Alright then, well what do you suggest?” Ron asked, attempted to navigate another spoonful of porridge and tipping half of it onto the table.

“Well, we could try a Muggle game,” Hermione ventured.

“Oh, like Pusher?” Ron said excitedly, eyes lighting up.

Harry swallowed a laugh along with his toast.

“I think you mean ‘Poker’, love,” Hermione corrected gently, grinning at his efforts.

“Poker might be fun,” Harry said overly enthusiastically, seeing the soppy glint in his friends’ eyes, knowing that if he didn’t keep them on topic, the sickening mushiness would begin again.

But it was too late.

“’Mione, you’re so brilliant,” Ron breathed in awe.

She pinked. “You’re too kind.”

“No, you really are!”

Harry groaned, as they dissolved into a murmured half-fight over who the better person was. Honestly, if they weren’t his best friends, he would have been tempted to dump a goblet of pumpkin juice over their heads long ago!

“Morning all, apologies for my tardiness,” Malfoy said, finally arriving at the table in a sweep of black robes and spicy cologne.

Harry yanked the Slytherin down beside him, grasping his arm desperately, glad for the back-up.

“Hullo to you too, love, no need to be so rough,” Malfoy drawled, smirking and settling his robes around him primly. “Pass the coffee?”

Harry let go of his arm and shoved the silver carafe towards him.

“My, someone’s in a temper this morning,” Malfoy glanced knowingly across the table. He found the entire situation far too amusing for Harry’s liking.

“You have to come play Poker tonight,” Harry burst out, whispering, although he doubted either Ron or Hermione would have noticed if he had been shouting, they were so fixated on each other.

“Poker?” Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow as he stirred a steady stream of cream into his coffee.

“Yes, Poker in the Gryffindor common room with me and my friends,” Harry elaborated.

Malfoy frowned, taking a sip of the bitter drink. “Sorry, but what is ‘Poker’?” He scrunched his nose with distaste, the gesture uncharacteristically cute for someone with such aristocratic features. It made Harry feel rather dizzy, something strange curling inside of him at the sight of it.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, shaking off the odd sensation. “It’s a Muggle card game. With tokens and betting and stuff.”

“Betting?”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be that high,” Harry assured him. “Please? I swear, I might go insane if you don’t come.”

“How flattering,” Malfoy said drily. “I always wanted to inspire insanity in someone. Very romantic.”

Harry glared at him, grabbing the Slytherin’s coffee mug and holding it hostage far out on his other side, much to Malfoy’s protestations. “This isn’t funny! Look, you can bring your friends too. Slytherins seem to get pretty weird about this stuff, so maybe their presence will keep Ron and Hermione more focused on their surroundings.”

Malfoy groaned resignedly. “Fine. We’ll come. Now give me back my bloody coffee mug, you git!”

***

“Is it strange that I’m kind of excited to meet these Gryffindor losers?”

“Pansy!” Draco groaned, already questioning whether actually doing as Potter suggested and bringing one of his friends to play this Muggle game was a mistake.

“Sorry, darling, I promise I will be nice to your boyfriend’s friends,” she blew him what was obviously supposed to be a comforting kiss and skipped down the rest of the hallway, stopping in front of a portrait of a fat lady in pink.

At least he hadn’t brought Crabbe and Goyle along, figuring that the prospect of learning a new card game may be too difficult for them when they already had trouble with the wizarding ones.

Draco caught up to her, looking up at the portrait lady. “Hello,” he said politely, unsure how Potter thought they were going to get in without a password. They had never discussed this part of the plan.

“Slytherins,” she sniffed haughtily. “Are you lost? You’re awfully far from your slimy dungeon.”

Pansy bristled, but Draco put a warning hand on her arm. He knew from experience that portraits did not take well to backtalk. At best, they would say something rude back. At worst, they would disappear and then they would be stuck out in the hall.

“Pardon me, madam, but I believe we are expected by Mr. Harry Potter?” He said smoothly, summoning one of his practiced dinner party smiles.

She softened slightly, still frowning. “Mr. Harry Potter, you say?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do.” And with that, she vanished, leaving behind an empty backdrop.

“Great, now you’ve scared her off,” Pansy pouted, leaning against the corridor wall.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Patience.”

And sure enough, moments later, the portrait opened up from the wall and Potter stumbled out from behind it, emerald eyes wild.

“Thank Godric!” He mumbled, looking as though he would have kissed Draco had Pansy not been standing right there beside him.

Draco wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed or relieved when Potter abandoned the thought and simply gestured for both of them to follow him through the entrance.

The Slytherins looked around with blatant fascination as they came out into the Gryffindor common room. It was so different from their own, all cushy furniture and worn carpets and cozy warmth and red and gold absolutely everywhere.

The occupying Gryffindor students watched them curiously as Potter led them across the room to where Granger and Weasley were seated at a small table. On top of it was a deck of cards and stacks of odd-looking round tokens, almost like coins, only striped in the gaudiest colours.

“Ron, Hermione, look who’s here!” Potter said loudly, dragging his friends’ attention away from each other and onto their guests.

Draco nodded cordially as he sat down on one of the chairs ringing the cramped table, taking off his robe and draping it over the back. “Evening. I’m sure you’ve met before, but as a proper introduction, this is my friend, Miss Pansy Parkinson.”

“Charmed,” she said, smiling wide as a shark at the Gryffindors, crossing her legs daintily beneath the table.

“Hello,” Granger said coolly, busying her hands expertly shuffling the deck of cards.

“So, how does this game work?” Weasley asked, watching Pansy nervously from the corner of his gaze.

“Well, it’s originally based on a Persian card game of the name—” Granger began eagerly.

“Maybe just the rules for tonight, Hermione,” Potter suggested, making his way around to his seat, squeezing behind Draco’s chair and briefly resting his hands on his shoulders for balance. The sensation of Potter’s palms sunk through Draco’s shirt, sending sparks through his skin.

“Alright,” she begrudged, setting the now shuffled deck in front of her.

As Granger proceeded to explain the rules of the game, Potter passed out stacks of the brightly coloured tokens, which Draco learned were called ‘chips’. By the end of Granger’s speech, he still had barely a clue of how to play, but she stared so fiercely when she asked if there were any questions that he didn’t dare say a thing.

Luckily for him, Weasley looked even more confused than he was and Draco was sure that with his natural intelligence and Slytherin cunning he could at least best the ginger Gryffindor.

Granger dealt them all hands and the first round began in splinters of chaos:

“Ante up!”

“Potter, what the devil is an ‘ante’?”

“Ron, love, are you sure you want to put that much in?”

“Just put a red chip in, Malfoy.”

“Five cards!”

“Are you sure about that, Ron?”

“Shove off, mate!”

“All of my blue ones!”

“What the hell, Pansy?”

“Wait, how much even are the blue ones?”

“Well, it’s too late now!”

“Fold.”

“Fold.”

“Fold.”

“Fold.”

“Malfoy, if you fold, Pansy automatically wins the hand.”

“What? I was just doing what the person before me was doing! I don’t want her to win!”

“Aww, ta, Draco!”

“Whatever! Have the bloody hand!”

“Alright, first hand to Parkinson!”

And around they went again, Draco getting a tad less muddled every time.

Eventually, both Potter and Weasley ran out of chips, Potter taking over dealing from Granger so she could concentrate better. She and Parkinson had amassed a large pile of the coloured circles each and frowned at their cards with the seriousness of Triwizard tournament contestants.

Draco watched them both nervously, fiddling with his own small stack of chips. The competitive energy coming off of the two of them was like the rising ozone before a thunderstorm.

“Two,” Granger demanded.

Potter obliged, dealing out two cards. His tie was loosened and his sleeves were rolled up and every time Draco glanced at him, his mouth went slightly dry. That was likely the real reason he was losing; lack of concentration due to Potter’s distractingly messy hair that was just begging to have fingers threaded through it.

Dragging his wavering attention back to the game, Draco examined his hand. They were on the third draw and it still wasn’t shaping up to be anything good. He shook his head. “Fold.”

Not losing a beat, Pansy smirked. “No cards.” She laid down her hand, the combination of cards causing Granger to groan, although Draco still wasn’t entirely sure why. There were too many bloody different things to keep track of.

“Damn it,” she said, in a rare show of temper, tossing her cards onto the table. “I thought you’d never played before, Parkinson. How’d you get so bloody good?”

Pansy hesitated, before grinning smugly. “My family vacationed in the country this past summer and there was absolutely nothing to do, so I would sneak away to Muggle bars and play Poker. When you do nothing else for months on end, you accidentally end up getting good whether you like it or not!”

Draco gaped at her. “Really? You never mentioned this to me!”

“You never asked!”

“Well, you’re a good player,” Granger admitted, resting her elbows on the table.

“How’d you learn to play, Granger?” Draco asked curiously.

She smiled, tucking back her hair. “My mom taught me and her and my dad and I would play growing up. It’s been a few years though.”

“I’m going to have to teach my dad this one,” Weasley said. “The chips alone would fascinate him. Maybe I’ll get him a set for Christmas.”

The conversation continued, Poker forgotten as the students swapped family stories and memories. Draco settled back in his chair, catching Potter’s gaze, and sharing a grin with him at the odd scene: Gryffindors and Slytherins sitting at a table, chatting like it was nothing after a Muggle card game. If first year Draco had been told that this would happen, he would have laughed off the impossible. But sixth year Draco was oddly happy to be there with Potter and their friends. Just talking. Despite it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of fluffy bonding! Surprise! Lol. I know you are all shocked. 😉  
>  I really wanted to do a scene where Harry and Draco and all of their friends hung out together and what better way then over the fun, but terribly confusing Muggle game of Poker! Speaking of, it has been awhile since I have played any regular draw Poker and I have never played that version with chips, so I am not entirely certain how the betting process works with draw Poker, so apologies for any inaccuracies! I fully owe up to them! Also, I am aware that usually the person who is the dealer does not play, but I wanted Hermione to be able to get in there and kick some ass, so I bent that rule a bit too. As I do. You all are used to it by now.   
> Anyhow, hope y’all enjoyed it! If you did, please leave me kudos and/or a comment! I love hearing your thoughts on these characters and story and just chatting about anything Harry Potter related!


	10. Represent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione tries to be unhelpfully helpful, Draco gets a bit angsty, and Harry kisses it better.

Harry fidgeted, tapping his feet against the ground while his eyes remained fixated on the clock hung above the mantle in the Gryffindor common room. This was a state he had been in for the entire evening and it was a testament to how enthralled Ron and Hermione were with each other that neither of them had noticed his strange behaviour.

Finally, the hand reached ten and Harry immediately sprung out of his seat with a suspicious amount of enthusiasm.

“Ahem, er, I just realized that I need a book,” he said loudly, trying to sound casual.

Hermione frowned up at him, her attention torn away from her boyfriend at the mention of a book. “What book, Harry?”

“One in the library, for . . . homework,” he lied, avoiding her gaze.

“Well, maybe I have it—” she began to suggest, pulling back from Ron, but Harry quickly cut her off.

“No! No, it’s, uh, one you don’t have,” he insisted.

She continued to stand. “Are you sure? What’s it called? You can’t have my collection of books memorized, Harry.”

“Please, Hermione, just trust me,” he pleaded, insides twinging with guilt.

“Harry’s probably right, ‘Mione,” Ron said, reaching up and taking her hand to pull her back down beside him. “You’re using the Cloak, though, right Harry? It’s pretty late.”

“Yes, yes I am,” Harry agreed hurriedly, all but running over to the stairs to his and Ron’s dorm. “Not sure how long it will take, so don’t wait up.”

Quickly grabbing the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders Map, Harry rushed out of Gryffindor Tower, pausing outside the entrance to tug on the Cloak and check the Map. Satisfied with his findings, Harry set off through the castle, taking care to avoid patrolling prefects. After all, the Cloak only made him invisible, not intangible. If someone bumped into him, he could still end up caught.

Turning around a corner, Harry huddled by the wall to check the Map again. Almost there.

Half way along the next corridor, Harry stopped outside a door, folding up the Cloak and the Map and tucking them into an inner pocket in his robes. Whispering a soft ‘Alohomora’ he twisted the knob and opened the door to the empty classroom.

Well, not _entirely_ empty.

As soon as Harry had shut the door behind him, he found himself pressed up against the wall by a determined Draco Malfoy. Grinning against the other boy’s insistent mouth, Harry closed his eyes and melted into the kiss, matching each grazing of lips with his own.

“You’re late, Potter,” Malfoy informed him between kisses.

“Got a little— mm, caught up,” Harry shot back, already breathless but figuring oxygen could wait.

Noting his gasps, Malfoy pulled back slightly, trailing startling soft kisses down Harry’s jaw. “I nearly got caught by Filch on the way here,” he said conversationally. “Funny how you never mention any near run-ins of your own—”

Sensing the direction this was going in, Harry turned his head, catching Malfoy’s mouth again before anymore probing questions could come out of it.

Distraction evidently working, Malfoy curled a hand around Harry’s neck, pulling him closer and threading his fingers through the back of his hair. Despite all his comments to the contrary, Harry suspected that Malfoy rather liked his permanently messy head of hair, given how often during these meet-ups he seemed to deliberately muss it even further.

Feeling a bit unsteady, Harry tightened his hold around Malfoy’s waist, reaching his right hand up and fisting it in his shirt, knowing that the action would rumple it irreparably and Malfoy would feel compelled to cast an ironing charm on it before he dared appear in public again. Malfoy’s strict grooming standards never failed to make Harry unreasonably cheerful, although why, he did not know.

Immediately, Malfoy slid the hand that had been entangled in Harry’s hair down to grab Harry’s fist, obviously intending to remove it and attempt to salvage the shirt. But instead of tugging it off, Malfoy’s hand suddenly stilled, pressed against the back of Harry’s right hand. Breaking their kiss, Malfoy looked down at their joined hands with a frown, stepping away from Harry entirely, their only contact remaining between their respective left and right hands. Malfoy removed his palm, loosely grasping Harry’s fingertips as he squinted down at Harry’s hand, like he was about to kiss it like some proper Victorian gentleman.

Laughing awkwardly, Harry watched Malfoy with confusion, wondering what had prompted this strange action.

Malfoy looked up, meeting his gaze questioningly. “Potter,” he said quietly, in a tone Harry had never heard coming from him before. “What happened to your hand?”

Oh. So that’s what it was.

Harry swallowed, trying to smile convincingly. He didn’t want to get into this. “Just a scar. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Malfoy insisted, frowning at the faint ridges that formed the words across the back of Harry’s hand. “It says ‘I must not tell lies’ on your hand. That doesn’t just happen.”

Anger flashed through Harry and he pulled his hand back, shoving it into his pocket. “I said, it’s nothing,” he repeated firmly, pushing past Malfoy.

Malfoy caught hold of his arm, causing Harry to turn back towards him. “Goddammit, Potter, what happened to your hand?”

“It was Umbridge, alright?” Harry snapped harshly, shaking off Malfoy’s grip. “Because I wouldn’t stop saying that Voldemort had returned.”

The silence between them gaped as horror filled Malfoy’s eyes. “I-I’m so sorry,” he said shakily. “I didn’t know.”

Harry shrugged, his anger ebbing away as quickly as it had come. “It’s not your fault. Why would you?”

Malfoy shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know, because I fucking worked for her all year, on her precious Inquisitorial Squad?”

“Look, Malfoy, it’s not a big deal,” Harry said tiredly, leaning against one of the desks. “It’s in the past.”

“Sorry, Potter, but the past is a big deal,” Malfoy snapped. “In case you’ve somehow forgotten, let me just remind you that working with Umbridge wasn’t the only time I royally fucked up. For nearly my entire life, people have gotten hurt all around me and I didn’t even care!”

Harry straightened, reaching for Malfoy, but he wrenched away, pacing across the floor.

“My parents worked directly for the Dark Lord himself and if he hadn’t been killed, who knows what I might have ended up doing?” He said desperately, pausing and gripping onto the back of a chair so hard his fingers went white.

“Yes, but that didn’t happen,” Harry said firmly, slowly walking towards Malfoy until he could place a hand on the other boy’s shoulder.

“I might have killed people,” Malfoy whispered, looking up at Harry with terrified eyes, the thought obviously having haunted him long before tonight.

“But you didn’t,” Harry whispered back, squeezing his hand. “You’ve changed.”

And to Harry’s surprise, he found he meant it. Over the past month, he had gotten to see sides of Malfoy he never before would have believed existed. His good-natured teasing over Harry’s hair, his relaxed smile when he drove, quietly singing Queen, and his stubborn struggle to best Harry whenever possible.

But more importantly, Harry had gotten to see the respect that shone in Malfoy’s eyes every time he debated Hermione, a girl he had painted with a demeaning slur only four years before without a second thought. The honesty when Malfoy had told him about the Muggles he had befriended in France and how he had realized that he wasn’t so different from them after all. And just tonight, the utter sorrow he had expressed when told about the source of the scar on Harry’s hand.

All of these things, Harry would have been pronounced impossible when he had first met him. But now, as he stood there, holding onto his hand in comfort, the assurance of his change was easy.

Malfoy looked at him skeptically, fear still very much present in his eyes.

Harry groaned, pulling the other boy into his arms. “Malfoy, would the – not self-titled – saviour of the wizarding world lie to you about that?”

As hoped for, his self-deprecation caused a slight smirk to quirk across Malfoy’s lips as he tracing idle lines across Harry’s chest with his fingertips, his touch sending shivers through his skin.

“Well, Potter, one never can be too sure,” he drawled, his familiar competitive spark burning out any remaining anguish in his gaze.

Harry hung his head dolefully. “Even with the scar to prove it, he doesn’t believe me!”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in to kiss him. “Too soon, Potter. Too soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So because of scene to chapter organization, this chapter ended up being a bit shorter than I usually do, but it balances out some of my overly long chapters, so it all works out in the end, you just have less to read this week. Apologies!   
> I have a lot of nice fluffy stuff coming up, which I’m very excited about, as the story starts to wrap up in the weeks to come in time for me to get my ass into gear for NaNoWriMo!   
> As always, kudos and/or comments bring me happiness akin to eating curry, wearing ballgowns, and listening to Hamilton, so go ahead! Do it! You know you want to!   
> Hope you all have a great week! <3


	11. Sham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gryffindors prove, once again, that subtlety is not their strong suit, and Harry and Draco experience the natural magic of snow.

Draco enjoyed how quiet the library was later in the evening. Most students had already begun to make their way back to their common rooms to settle in for the night. This meant that he, Potter, Weasley, and Granger practically had the run of the place, save for Madam Pince and a few obligatory Ravenclaws that Draco suspected even slept among the stacks.

He leaned back in his chair, scanning the last inch of his looping cursive. “Granger, does this look right to you?” He asked, passing the parchment across the table. “The bit about the Secrecy Statute.”

She read it over, frizzy curls falling over her face as she mumbled a few of the words out loud. “It’s not bad; just maybe spend more time on the Wizengamot trial,” she suggested, handing it back to him.

“Merlin, you’re at the bit about the Statute already? I’m still on Fudge’s five times great-aunt,” Potter groaned, dropping his quill onto the table dramatically and splattering ink across Weasley’s still mostly blank parchment.

“Hey, watch it, mate!” The ginger complained, tugging his robe off the back of his chair and using the sleeve to dab at the splotch.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Weasley, did you grow up in a wizarding household or not?” He casually flicked his wand at the paper, not failing to notice Potter biting back a smile at his ‘scourgify’, evidently reminded of another ink spill caused by the fluctuation of a very different emotion.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Weasley said, still glaring at Potter, who was pointedly pretending to ignore him and scratching nonsense across his own paper.

“Anytime, Weasley,” Draco replied distractedly, searching through the stacks of books they had gathered from the surrounding shelves at the beginning of their study session. “Anyone seen _Garshen’s Trial Accounts_? I could have sworn I nabbed it.”

“Oh, sorry, I think it’s upstairs. I was looking through it last night,” Granger said, glancing up from her paper, which was near eight inches longer than the required twelve already. She brightened. “I’ll go get it for you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Draco said, picking up a tome bound in tattered purple cloth and streaked with something that looked suspiciously like pumpkin juice. “I can use Hutchen’s version instead.”

“Ron, will you help me look for it?” Granger continued, standing up from the table as though Draco hadn’t said anything.

Weasley stared at her in confusion. “What are you talking about, Hermione?”

“I need you to come with me to find _Garshen’s Trial Accounts_ ,” she reiterated slowly, while packing up her satchel.

“Wha- ohh.” Weasley’s eyes widened and he scrambled up from his chair so quickly that he nearly knocked it over. “Riight.”

Draco watched with amusement as the two gathered up their things and pulled on their winter cloaks and scarves, which were all too necessary when going out into the castle’s drafty corridors now that December was well upon them. They muttered hurried goodbyes, before leaving him and Potter to smirk at their obviousness.

“I might have believed her if the book hadn’t been sitting right here,” Potter admitted, holding up the rumpled text.

Draco snorted. “Right. Because it’s totally believable when someone uses an urgent homework excuse when they’re really just going to snog someone.”

Potter made a funny noise, like a disgruntled owl.

“What was that?” Draco laughed.

“Nothing,” the other boy insisted, flushing slightly and standing up abruptly from the table. “I need a break. I’m going to take a turn around the shelves, see if there are any useful books that we missed.”

“Mmhmm,” Draco said skeptically, smiling at the Gryffindor’s retreating back. Honestly, Potter could not lie to save his life. It was almost extraordinary how bad he was at it.

Without anyone there to interrupt, Draco easily fell into concentration, fleshing out his portion on the Wizengamot Statute trials until he had completed another inch. He glanced over his work, quite pleased with the result.

It wasn’t that Granger was smarter than he was, he reasoned to himself. She just had more practice tuning out Weasley and Potter, who slogged through classwork as loudly as a pair of banshees.

“Malfoy!”

And speak of the devil.

Draco sighed. “Yes, Potter?”

The Gryffindor came out from around a shelf, pulling Draco out of his chair without an explanation.

“What are you doing?” Draco demanded, as Potter eagerly tugged him back around the shelf and pointed to the large casement window ensconced in the stone wall.

“Look out,” Potter urged, leading him so close to the glass that Draco could feel the cold radiating through it. “It’s snowing!”

Potter was right. As Draco peered through the thick panes, he saw flecks of white softly tumbling past in the first snow of the season.

He turned to see Potter staring out with an absurd, child-like grin on his face, eyes shining with a wonder Draco had never seen on him before. It was rather sweet seeing how excited Potter was just by a few flakes of frozen water.

“Let’s go outside!”

Then again, maybe it wasn’t sweet at all.

“Potter, no, are you mental?” Draco complained as Potter dragged him back to their table, gathering up their clocks and striped scarves. “What about our books?”

Potter waved dismissively, still grinning. “They’ll be here when we get back.”

“It’s nearly curfew though,” Draco tried reasoning, but instead found himself being wrapped up into his cloak and swept out of the library.

Resigned to his fate, he knotted his scarf around his neck as Potter clattered down the stairs to the entrance way, making such a cheerful racket that Draco was certain that even the Slytherins down in the dungeon could hear him.

Quietly tugging open the door, they slipped outside into another world.

The grounds looked like they had been dusted with heavy layers of powdered sugar and their footsteps did not make a sound as they walked across it, the snow pillowing under their feet. The air was cold, but still, allowing the flakes to fall down gently unimpeded. It seemed as though he and Potter were the only people on earth.

Without thinking, Draco reached for Potter’s hand, tangling their numb fingers together as they wandered past the shuttered greenhouses and towards the Quidditch pitch. The gesture felt right. A reminder that there was still life in this ghostly world.

They stopped at the end of the pitch, looking out at the long expanse. Draco had never seen it like this, entirely covered in pristine, unmarked white, the snow sparkling under the slivers of moonlight that stole past the dark clouds. It was breath-taking.

Potter let go of his hand, reaching down to drag his fingers through the snow, marring the perfection in an oddly satisfying way.

Draco was mesmerized by the sight of snowflakes caught in Potter’s dark hair, starkly pale against the black, which was why he didn’t pay enough attention to the mischievous smirk that served as his only warning before Potter abruptly straightened and flung his handful of snow into Draco’s face.

He sputtered, freezing clumps sliding damply down his face and dripping onto his scarf. Potter’s peals of laughter broke the sacred veil that had seemed to be coating the world along with the snow, as he doubled over with glee.

A red heat flooded through Draco’s insides, banishing any cold he might have felt. And then he pounced, quickly scoping up his own handful of snow and lobing it at Potter’s head as he scrambled away across the Quidditch field in fear of retaliation.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” Potter called after him, and moments later a ball of snow smacked against his back. Draco elegantly flipped him off, using his other hand to brush the snow away.

Slytherin mind racing, Draco raced over to a set of deserted bleachers, slipping dangerously across the icy boards as he clambered up to the high ground. He turned back to watch as Potter ran towards him, a determined expression set on his face, red and gold scarf dangling behind him, dragging in the snow.

Noting the weakness, Draco waited until Potter stopped to gather ammunition, then chucked a well-aimed snow clump on top of the end of his scarf, pinning it to the ground.

“Nice miss, Malfoy,” Potter gloated, not noticing his trapped neck-wrap and stepping towards the bleachers, only to be tugged back. “Clever,” he admitted, yanking off his scarf and abandoning it on the pitch, like a woolly snake.

Draco scrapped as much snow as he could off of the benches, but his amount was meager compared to the armful that Potter gathered. Deciding to cut his losses, Draco nimbly hopped down, dodging past Potter and sprinting out into the middle of the pitch, the other boy close on his heels and pelting him with sloppy handfuls.

Unbeknownst to both of them, a large expanse of ice lurked under the snow in the center of the field, and as Draco felt a hand grab onto his arm, his feet came out from under him, sending both him and Potter falling into the snow face first.

The frozen crystals burned harshly against Draco’s face and he rolled over onto his back, skin stinging. Beside him, Potter flopped upward, panting.

“Peace?” He gasped.

“Peace.”

They both lay there, catching their breath and watching as it hung in smoky clouds above their faces. The snow had stopped and the clouds were slowly drifting away, allowing gaping swathes of stars to peer through.

“That one’s mine,” Draco said, jutting his chin towards the right. “That constellation over there.”

“ _’Draco’_ ,” Potter said, sounding as though he were savouring the word, and sending a strange lightness through Draco in the process. He felt snow-chilled fingers find his own, the touch so familiar, and yet seemingly different now than before.

He turned his head, noting the steady rise and fall of Potter’s chest and the faint stubble darkening his jaw. Potter stared back at him through snow-smudged glasses, smiling softly, and rubbing his thumb gently across the back of Draco’s hand in an almost absent-minded fashion. The caress was soothing, and strangely felt more intimate than when Potter was pressing urgent, heated kisses against his mouth. The sensation made his stomach flutter.

Heart pounding oddly loud in his ears, Draco leaned in and brushed a delicate whisper of a kiss across Potter’s chapped mouth. Their lips barely even grazed, the contact so brief their eyes didn’t even have time to close, but it felt so sweet it almost hurt, panging through Draco’s chest.

Stunned, he didn’t move, hovering mere inches away from Potter’s face, drinking in every detail. How dark his eyelashes were, and the faint gold specks in his eyes. The dull gleaming of rust dappling his wire-frames. The lightly damp hair falling over the raised etch of his lightning scar. How he smelled so right with traces of Draco’s cologne on his skin.

Potter was smiling, the flash of his slightly crooked canines only making him look more handsome. “Tell me more about the stars,” he whispered, curling into Draco’s side, and playing with the ends of his scarf.

And so Draco did.

He sunk back against the snow, the cold sinking through his already damp cloak, warm only where he was pressed against Potter. But that didn’t matter somehow. Because as Draco looked up at the sparkling night sky and quietly murmured stories about heroes and magic and dragons into Potter’s ear, a soft smile crept onto his face, brought on by a pure, peaceful light filling him in a way that it hadn’t for a long time.

He was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being Canadian, I find myself writing about snow far too frequently. Hey, write what you know, right? 😉   
> This week I also started beta-ing for the first time, which is so much fun! It’s a beautifully gritty Wolfstar fic by BellaBabe called Sirius Black & The Six and I highly recommend you all check it out! She’s awesome!   
> Kudos and/or comments bring me as much joy as piglets, badass boots (if any of y’all wanna give me a Christmas present, a pair of vegan Doc Martens would make me love you forever, lol), and minimalism, so hit those buttons!   
> ❤️❤️❤️


	12. Mislead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which friendship is recognized for the precious gold that it is, snowy fun is had, and Draco and Harry start to make some realizations.

“Draco, can you grab my bag?”

He sighed, but took the large piece of luggage that Pansy was impatiently holding out to him. “Merlin, Pans, trying to smuggle out rocks?” He groaned, muscles protesting at the weight.

Ignoring his comment, Pansy continued to round up other Slytherins who had made the mistake of standing idly in the common room.

“Hey, you two, come carry my trunk!” She waved Crabbe and Goyle over, who were already holding their own luggage, but managed to drag Pansy’s large trunk along as well as the foursome exited the dorms.

“Now I’m actually glad that my parents are spending the holidays alone in France,” Draco remarked drily, noting his friends’ struggle. “Otherwise I’d have had to leave my own bags behind in favour of helping you carry yours.”

“Glad to know that you have your priorities in the right place,” Pansy smirked.

The Slytherins joined the tangled mass of Hogwarts students flooding out of the castle and across the grounds to the line of carriages that waited to take them all to the train station. It looked as though the majority of the student body would not be staying at school for the winter holidays and the air was filled with excited chatter, faces rosy from the cold and the excitement of the break.

Pansy led them over to a carriage and Draco helped them all get their luggage stowed properly, casting charms to ensure that none of it would fall off into the snow.

“You’re on your own getting it onto the train,” he reminded Pansy.

She waved him off. “I can use _accio_ if I have to.”

“Could have used that to get it here in the first place,” he pointed out, just as he did every year.

Pansy scowled, just as _she_ did every year. “Draco, what have I said about questioning my judgement?”

“Do it?” He suggested innocently, barely dodging the not-so gentle punch Pansy aimed at his arm. “I’m only joshing, Pans. You know I’ll carry your bag for you any day.”

Pansy smiled brightly. “Good. Glad that we got that cleared up.”

Crabbe and Goyle hauled themselves up into the carriage, but Draco paused for a moment before handing Pansy up, gazing at his friend. She tipped her head, a slight smirk curving her reddened mouth.

Draco opened his mouth, then faltered. It was those damn Gryffindors’ fault. Their soppy, casually affectionate ways were corrupting his typical Slytherin approach to this. But he pushed on. “I just want you to know that, I’ll miss you, Pans.”

The direct sentiment caused both of their cheeks to automatically redden with embarrassment, but Pansy smiled and abruptly hugged Draco, the embrace terribly awkward, but well-meant. Draco leaned into his friend’s shoulder, breathing in her familiar floral perfume. A scent that would always be comforting for him, reminding him of his oldest and closest friend.

Pansy dashed butterfly kisses on either side of his face, returning to rites of farewell that were more customarily Pureblood. “You won’t really miss me though,” she said, soft smile suddenly turning wicked to match her twinkling eyes. “Because I know that you’re really just staying back so you can spend more time with your boyfriend.”

She flashed a wink back at him before he could protest, pulling herself up into the carriage. “Happy holidays, Draco, love!”

Draco shook his head, smiling wryly. “Happy holidays, Pansy.”

The line of carriages slowly started moving, students leaning out of the windows to wave goodbye to friends staying behind and shouting holiday wishes to each other.

Draco waited until his friends’ carriage was out of sight, then started trudging back to the castle. He scuffed at the thick snow that covered the ground, the crystals stamped down and marked by a hundred footsteps. Not lain out in unmarred sheets like it had been the other night when he and Potter had been outside, flinging handfuls of the stuff at each other and then collapsing down and staring up at the stairs until past midnight. They had had to sneak back into the castle, nearly getting caught by Filch in the process. But for some reason, it had been worth it.

Draco realized that he was smiling again, that same warm and bubbly feeling spreading through him. He found that for the first time in years, he was actually looking forward to the holidays. No stuffy parties at the Manor where he was expected to make polite small talk with drunk relatives and snooty family friends. Just the freedom of having nearly the entire castle to themselves.

With a start, Draco admitted that his excitement was possibly due in part to the people he would be spending it with. That perhaps, just perhaps, this strange anticipation was because of . . . Potter.

***

Harry loved Hogwarts during the holidays. Granted, being at Hogwarts was always wonderful, but especially during break. Hermione made him, Ron, and Malfoy sit down and get through all of their assigned work on the first day, so the rest of the time they had nothing to worry about but getting sick from eating too many Bertie Botts.

Only a few students from each house had stayed, so they practically had the run of the grounds, which resulted in delirious days of fun.

The lake had finally frozen over, and upon hearing that Malfoy had never gone skating, Harry promptly dragged them all out onto the ice, charmed skates on their feet as they swirled across the frozen surface. Malfoy had taken loads of falls at first, although, granted, in the most dignified manner that Harry had ever seen, but by the end of the day, even he was doing short laps across the ice with an unironic grin on his face.

Another day, Ron had gotten all the students together to play some Quidditch scrimmages in the snow. Even Hermione had joined in, refereeing from the ground with a rulebook in hand to consult when fouls got debated, which Malfoy made a point of doing anytime Harry so much as breathed in the wrong direction, a smug smirk perched on his face. Harry countered with ‘accidentally’ flying too close to Malfoy and nudging his broom just enough that it sent the Slytherin in the opposite direction of the Snitch. Eventually Hermione got so exasperated with them that she refused to call any fouls between the two of them.

But even better than all their fun in the snow were the cozy nights that they spent in the Gryffindor common room, hunched over spirited games of Exploding Snap or intense chess tournaments. They even tried Poker again, Hermione gleefully cleaning up without Pansy to challenge her.

It had all been the perfect lead-up to the main day, and when Harry opened his eyes on Christmas morning, outside it was white and sparkling, just as perfect as the rest of the holidays had been so far.

Grinning, he slid out from underneath his warm blankets, reaching over to shake Ron awake.

“What is it? I’m sleeping,” Ron complained petulantly, burrowing further under his quilt.

“Wake up, mate,” Harry insisted. “It’s Christmas!”

Slowly, Ron stuck his head out from his covers, yawning widely. “So it is,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Merry Christmas, mate.”

“To you as well,” Harry said, sitting back on the edge of his bed as Ron sat up, putting on his slippers.

“Snow’s bloody nice,” Ron remarked, glancing out the window at the glittering white expanse covering the grounds.

“Sure is,” Harry agreed.

They stared out the foggy panes of glass, gradually sloughing off the last remains of sleep clouding their heads.

“Listen, Ron, I know this year has been kind of strange,” Harry said, looking over at his friend.

“When hasn’t it been?” Ron quipped wryly.

Harry smiled. “That’s true enough. I just wanted to say though that I really do appreciate you. You’re my best mate, y’know? And it’s been different, with Malfoy and Hermione and everything, but you know I love you, mate, right?”

Ron flushed slightly under his stark freckles, but he nodded. “’Course I know that, Harry. You’re like yet another brother to me. You know, a brother who doesn’t have to listen to my mum, lucky bloke.”

“Your mum’s lovely,” Harry said firmly.

“You’re only saying that because she doesn’t send you a maroon sweater every year,” Ron said darkly, nudging a familiar lumpy package with his foot.

“Erm, well . . .” Harry faltered. “Never mind. I’ve got nothing. Sorry, mate!”

“Ron! Harry! It’s gift time!” Hermione called up the stairs, voice echoing against the rounded stone walls.

“Let’s go see that sweater!” Harry said, gathering up his gifts and heading down to the common room, a grumbling Ron close on his heels.

Downstairs, Hemione and Ginny were seated on a sofa that they had pushed in close to the fire place, piles of presents stacked neatly in front of them. Harry dumped his unceremoniously beside theirs, before falling back onto another sofa and finding himself suddenly close to a sleepy Draco Malfoy. He had known that Malfoy was going to open presents with them; the Gryffindors had invited him when they had found out that he was the only upper year Slytherin who had stayed and he didn’t much fancy spending Christmas morning with half a dozen second and third years who he barely knew.

But what Harry had not counted on was how fluttery his stomach got at the sight of Malfoy in his tailored silk pajamas, with his normally relentlessly-styled hair standing up in a tousled shock of bedhead. He had somehow not realized how he was going to have to sit beside a deliciously disheveled Malfoy, eyelids still heavy from sleep, and focus on opening gifts at the same time. The task seemed too much.

Swallowing hard, Harry tore his eyes away as Ron set his presents on the floor, pausing before he sat down to give Hermione a sweet Christmas kiss, the two of them beaming at each other like they were the only ones in the room until Ginny couldn’t stand it any more and announced that the present opening should begin.

Soon the floor was covered in boxes of candy, new books, thick-knit sweaters, and other various knickknacks and baubles, all strewn among scraps of colourful wrapping paper and strands of ribbon. Every so often someone would proudly thrust a gift into the air, chattering about its irrefutable merits and making a point of showing it to everyone else, who dutifully oohed and ahhed appreciatively, even if they didn’t understand the appeal.

Finally, the mayhem was over, everyone settling back to admire their newly acquired treasures. Hermione began reading a book on Poker strategy which Ron had given her, while he leaned against her shoulder, breaking into a box of toffee that Malfoy had given him. Ginny was chatting about Quidditch with another fifth year girl who had just come downstairs, hair escaping from her braids in a haze of red static, and Malfoy was admiring the set of quills that Hermione had got for him.

Harry tugged on the new sweater that Mrs. Weasley had sent him, feeling oddly nervous as he reached for the one gift he hadn’t given yet: Malfoy’s. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just given it to him with all the other gifts like everyone else had done. Although Malfoy hadn’t even given him a gift at all, not even a polite box of sweets like he had to all the others.

 _Oh, bugger this_ , Harry thought.

“Erm, Malfoy?”

The Slytherin looked up. “Yes, Potter?”

“I, er, just wanted to give you this,” Harry said awkwardly, holding out the poorly wrapped package. “Merry Christmas.”

Malfoy stared at the present for a moment, before taking it, carefully pulling off the paper and tape to reveal a shiny plastic case.

“It’s for your car,” Harry said quietly, blushing brightly. “You seemed to like Queen and I wasn’t sure what CDs of theirs you had, so I got you one with the biggest hits, to cover your bases. It’s not much, but I thought you might play it every once and awhile, you know, when you get tired of your other CDs and have nothing else to listen to.”

Heart seeming to thump thunderously loud, Harry watched as Malfoy read the back, still not saying anything. Harry felt rather nauseous. Merlin, this had been a poor idea. This was stupid, he shouldn’t have—

“Thank you, Potter. It’s perfect,” Malfoy said quietly, glancing over at him with what could almost be mistaken for a smile. “I have something for you too.”

Stomach settling in a wave of relief, Harry grinned widely. “Brilliant!”

“I just finished it last night, so I didn’t get a chance to wrap it,” Malfoy said apologetically. “So close your eyes and hold out your hands and I’ll give it to you.”

A soft, warm weight landed on Harry’s palms and he opened his eyes to see . . . rocks?

“They’re pocket warmers,” Malfoy explained quickly, cheeks pinking a bit. “I charmed some rocks to hold heat, since you always get so bloody cold all the time and can’t get that scarred head of yours to remember a heating charm.”

Harry was shocked by the thoughtfulness of the gift, warmth already sinking into his skin. “That’s brilliant, Malfoy.” He looked up at the other boy, smiling. “Really. I’ll use them all the time.”

Malfoy nodded, a faint smile still traced on his lips. Harry wanted nothing more than to lean over and softly kiss him to see if he could get a full smile.

Harry faltered. The thought felt jarring. This was different. Harry had wanted to kiss Malfoy before, sure, but it had always come from a place of burning and desire, not . . . whatever this was. This strange fluttering warmth in his stomach that made him want to curl up against Malfoy’s shoulder and whisper sweet-nothings into his ear, like the first snow.

Malfoy was frowning at him now, obviously perplexed by the odd expression that had come over Harry’s face. He could feel a blush starting to splotch across his skin and his head spun as he tried to come up with a diversion.

“Oy! I’m starving! The rest of you ready for breakfast?” Ron shouted, getting up from his place beside Hermione and becoming Harry’s diversion.

“Breakfast sounds great!” Harry said hurriedly, scrambling to his feet, pushing aside whatever had just come over him. “Let’s go!”

“Agreed,” Malfoy said, groaning. “I need some coffee and pomade. I may have lowered my standards and come to this in pajamas, but the day I attend breakfast with our teachers in such a slovenly manner is the day I decide to throw a v at society and become a hermit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s barely even autumn yet and here I am writing holiday fluff, getting myself all psyched up for advent prompts! And I don’t even like Christmas! Good Godric.  
> You know the drill: kudos and/or comments bring me happiness akin to crushing on James Potter, burgundy lipstick, and vegan mushroom fajitas! <3


	13. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which realizations of more than one variety are made.

Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed on Christmas day. After opening presents in Gryffindor tower, he and the other Gryffindors had spent the morning messing around in the crisp snow outside, working up an appetite for the Christmas feast. The meal did not disappoint, with all manner of delicious treats appearing on the table. Potter even persuaded him to try a bite of that treacle tart that he swore by and, to Draco’s surprise, it wasn’t half bad. Although it could perhaps simply be that he had grown accustomed to tasting its sweetness on Potter’s lips.

Now they were all back up in the Gryffindor common room, where a fire was blazing merrily in the grate. Granger was reading, Potter was showing the Weasley girl how to play Poker, and Draco was getting thoroughly trounced in chess.

“Dammit, Weasley,” he growled, as the ginger smugly captured his second bishop.

“Your move, Malfoy,” Weasley said, leaning back in his chair, barely able to keep the self-satisfied smirk off of his face.

Draco had always considered himself a more than decent chess player and had boasted as much when sitting down to play. He obviously had not taken Potter’s warning seriously enough.

“You’re winning, Ron, dear,” Granger said from behind her book. It was not a question.

Draco stared at the board, panic slowly building as he took in the dire position that Weasley had neatly boxed him into.

“Going to make a move?” Weasley taunted.

“Was just about to,” Draco said curtly, mind still racing. Stalling for time, he slowly pushed up his sleeves. Potter had lent him one of the Christmas jumpers that Weasley’s mum had sent him for past holidays, and although Draco was loath to admit it, it was damn comfortable. Knobbly knitting and all. Plus it didn’t hurt that it smelled intoxicatingly of Potter, that familiar, sweet treacle sent clinging to the fabric and turning Draco’s stomach upside down every time he breathed it in.

“Anytime today, Malfoy.” Weasley faked a yawn.

Still consumed by doubt, Draco decisively moved one of his remaining pawns, immediately regretting the move as a look of barely concealed glee came over Weasley’s face as he considered his next move.

Mere seconds later, he made his choice, ordering his queen over a few squares. Draco hardly had a moment to collect himself and reconfigure his strategy before it was his turn again.

But just then, Granger got up, providing him with a few extra seconds of thinking time.

“I’m going to head up to bed,” she said, dropping a soft kiss on Weasley’s cheek and squeezing his hand.

“I should probably head up too.” The Weasley girl got up from where Potter had been instructing her in the Muggle card game, stifling a yawn.

“Alright, goodnight then!” Weasley said. “See you in the morning.”

The girls nodded sleepily and headed up to their dormitory, ending Draco’s extra thinking time. Weasley’s eyes were once again fixated on him, a faintly condescending smile curling over his lips. Like that of a man who already knows he has won.

That smile grated at Draco’s pride and he threw himself furiously back into looking for any form of escape.

“Want some help?” A weight sloped down onto the couch pillow beside Draco as Potter sat down, nodding towards the board.

“No thank you, Potter. I’m fine on my own,” Draco said coolly, scrabbling for a plan.

“Are you sure?” Potter goaded, leaning in closer, which was not helping with Draco’s ability to concentrate. “I give great advice!”

Draco inadvertently glanced towards Weasley, who shrugged. “I’ll allow it.”

“Fine. What’s your advice, Potter?”

Only minutes later, it became apparent that taking Potter’s advice just made matters worse. Weasley won within the next five moves, crowing triumphantly as he got up from the board.

“Better luck next time, Slytherin,” Weasley smirked, cleaning his victorious pieces off of the board, and heading up to his room, leaving the common room nearly empty aside from him and Potter.

Smarting from the loss, Draco sank back against the sofa. “It’s the jumper,” he said disdainfully.

Potter leaned back beside him, rolling his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s true!” Draco insisted stubbornly. “If I was wearing the proper attire, I would have won.”

“But you would have been a lot less comfortable,” Potter pointed out, nudging him.

“Alright, that’s also true,” Draco begrudged, curling his hands inside the sleeves. “It is annoyingly comfortable.”

Potter laughed softly, settling back against the couch and staring into the fire, the light reflecting off of his wide glasses. There was something so unguarded about his expression that Draco couldn’t help but look at him. To think that if Potter had never been a muddling idiot in the face of a preposition, then Draco never would have been here. In the Gryffindor common room, wearing the Boy Who Lived’s sweater, and wanting nothing more than to curl up with him. Not fight with him. Not make out with him. Just quietly be with him.

And to his surprise, Draco found himself doing exactly that, as he slowly leaned over, resting his head against Potter’s shoulder, tucking in against his side. Potter let out a soft breath of surprise, but then curled his arm around Draco, gently interlacing their fingers, sending a muted warmth through Draco’s skin.

At first they both seemed to be holding their breath, not wanting to make any sudden noises for fear for breaking whatever moment this was, but gradually Draco relaxed and their breaths gently synced, fading into the soft sound of the crackling fireplace.

After realizing that Potter wasn’t going to be recoiling in horror, Draco let his eyelids gently fall shut, soothed by the warmth of having him beside him. Breathing in his familiar scent. Listening to him inhale and exhale. Feeling his arms around him. Simply enjoying being beside him. Not Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Not Potter, his bitter rival.

Just Harry.

The boy who had dragged him out into the snow for the pure joy of it. Who had listened to his inner-struggles with compassion, despite all their history. Who kissed him every time like it was the last thing he would do.

Things he had grown to love about Harry.

And as Draco lay there, blissfully drifting between consciousness and sleep, he realized, that he liked who _he_ was when he was with Harry. Not heir to the Malfoy name. Not a lackey of pureblood ideals. Not a sneering schoolboy.

Just Draco.

And he didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

***

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, faint sunlight dancing across them, but he immediately closed them again. He was too comfortable to wake up just yet. The day could wait. He was warm, curled around someone – right, Malfoy – and as far as he was concerned, only an impending troll attack could make him move.

Sighing happily, Harry snuggled closer to Malfoy, enjoying how soft his sleep-tossled locks were as he rested his forehead against the other boy’s neck. He smelled nice too, like sleep and cinnamon rolls and a bit like Harry’s own soap. Right, because Malfoy was wearing one of his jumpers, Harry remembered, smiling drowsily to himself. That’s why Malfoy felt so soft. Because he wasn’t wearing his usual collared shirt that had been starched so violently that its folds could give people papercuts.

Harry sighed contentedly, settling back in. Waking up next to Malfoy was nice.

All of a sudden, Harry’s eyes opened wide, as he was shocked awake by the thought. _Must be a mistake,_ he thought, heart pounding wildly as he half sat up, staring down at the boy – Malfoy! – that had prompted such a strange sentiment. But as he continued to look down at the still-sleeping Slytherin, blond hair sticking up in breath-taking bedhead, he realized that no, it wasn’t a mistake. Simply a feeling that had been building up for longer than he had known. Made up of a combination of many moments.

It was a feeling built by the heat that flooded Harry’s veins whenever he touched Malfoy. But also the steady warmth that his presence had slowly grown to have, the comfort of having him near. It was watching Malfoy laugh, how his eyes would narrow and his cheeks would get flushed. But also watching him painted cold with sadness, remembering who he was in the past and grieving for those he had hurt. It was running through the snow together, pelting each other in competition. But also curling up together and listening as he pointed out the stars. It was casually bickering, and commiserating over classwork, and glances of smiles, and witty quips. All culminating in this undeniable feeling.

He was falling in lo-

Panicked, Harry cut himself off, not even daring to think it. He quickly slipped away from Malfoy, and dashed up to his dormitory, where Ron was still sound asleep.

Head spinning, Harry fell onto his bed, finally allowing his torrent of thoughts to empty.

He was in love with Draco Malfoy.

The admittance shook him. Merlin, what was he going to do?! Just sit around and continue to pretend to date him and have stolen make-out sessions when no one was looking, all while being in love with him? Eventually the other boy would realize something was up when the supposed-to-be fraudulent relationship kept dragging on.

Besides, Harry realized, heart sinking, he would be living a lie. Draco would never feel the same things that Harry felt for him. Not after everything.

Granted, there were times when Harry would look at him and swear he saw something . . . more in the other boy’s gaze. But that was just wishful thinking to imagine that Draco would care for him like that. Their history was too tumultuous.

And the longer he let this go on, the more it would hurt.

So that was it, he thought numbly. He had to tell Draco that it was time for them to break off the act and go back to how it was.

But Harry knew that no amount of fake break-ups could make him go back to seeing Draco how he used to. Not after he showed him his garishly yellow car and drove them around while singing Queen. Not after sneaking out to kiss him in abandoned classrooms. Not after waking up in his arms in the Gryffindor common room and never wanting to leave.

But it had to be done. It would hurt too much to feel as though he had Draco, when really he never would.

Harry wearily got up off of his bed, heart heavy as a stone in his chest as he made his way back down to the common room.

Draco had woken up and was gathering up his tie and button-up shirt off the chair where he had set them when he had swapped them out for Harry’s emerald H sweater, which he was still wearing. He smiled when Harry entered the room, offering a casual “Good morning” that sent pangs through Harry. He stared at him, wanting him so badly, which was the whole problem.

Draco looked back at him, still smiling, and arching one eyebrow quizzically, obviously confused by the expression on his face.

“I think it’s time we do the break up,” Harry blurted abruptly, unable to take it for a moment longer.

Draco stared at him blankly, smile fading. “What?”

Pain already starting to tear at him every moment he looked at Draco, Harry turned away in the guise of putting the common room back to rights after the joyful carelessness of Christmas day. That enviable, oblivious carelessness before he had realized he was in love with him and fucked everything up. When he could look at him and not feel dizzy from the hurt.

“Well, I think we’ve been pretending to date for long enough and if we break up on the first day of next term, I should be safe from propositions until the end of the year,” he choked out, focusing on picking up pillows off of the floor and placing them back onto their respective couches and chairs.

“Of course,” Draco said oddly stiffly, tearing off Harry’s sweater and flinging on his rumpled collared shirt with strange viciousness.

Every inch of visible pale skin that Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye made it harder to get through this, so he gripped the pillows with renewed fury, plumping them so harshly it was like he was beating a Bludger.

“We should do it in the Great Hall at breakfast, so we have the largest audience possible like we did for the beginning of this,” Harry forced out, trying desperately to keep his tone casual.

“Sure,” Draco agreed, voice peculiarly sharp as he shrugged into his robes, fisting his tie in his hand. If Harry didn’t know better, he almost would have thought he sounded bitter.

Harry swallowed hard. “So what should it be over?”

“What?”

“The break up. What’s our reason?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about you became impossibly irritating and I was still the evil git you always knew me to be?” Draco said almost sarcastically, rushing so quickly towards the door that he was nearly running. “I think we’ll be able to come up with something. You know, the realistic-ness of coming up with it in the moment?”

Harry watched as Draco practically stormed out of the common room, leaving only the echo of the slammed door as a reminder of his presence. He slumped back against the arm of the couch they had slept on, heart thudding painfully. Why had Draco rushed out like that? Maybe it was because he had expected Harry to end this farce sooner and not have taken up so much of his life.

Harry wanted desperately to run after him and ask why he was acting like that. But he couldn’t allow himself to do that anymore. After all, it’s not like he was his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Yup. Here we are. Sorry, couldn’t make it too easy for them! Harry still is an oblivious idiot after all, even if it’s over a new thing now. At least you got some romantic fluff before it all went to shit! Wait . . . never mind . . . that just made it worse . . .   
> Just like I planned. Mwahahaha!   
> I’m an author! I am contractually obligated to torture my characters at some point.   
> Feel free to take it out on me down in the comments. And leave some kudos too? Because I gave you chapters and chapters of fluff before this sadness? Please?   
> Stayed tuned for next week! 😉


	14. Deceive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things just continue to be worse.

Draco had barely said two words to Pansy since she got back from break. He knew that she was bound to ask about how his time with Harry had been and that he wouldn’t be able to sum up a smile anywhere near convincing. So he had pretended not to hear her when she asked if he wanted to walk to breakfast together on the first morning back, instead disappearing inside of his dorm room mumbling something about needing to change his tie.

A few minutes after she, Crabbe, and Goyle had left the common room, he finally dared to come out, stomach churning with every step he took on the way to the Great Hall. In ten minutes, he would no longer be Harry Potter’s boyfriend. Not that he ever really had been, he thought bitterly.

After Harry had suggested the break-up, Draco had done his best to avoid him as much as possible for the remainder of the break. It hurt to even look at him, each sight of dark hair and green eyes only reminding Draco of how stupid he had been to even spend a second thinking that this farce could be anything more. Things couldn’t change that much. Harry might have tolerated him when it served his uses, but at the end of the day, he was still Draco Malfoy and no one was less likely to receive the Golden Boy’s affections than him. He was a fool for even entertaining such a thought.

At the end of the day, it all came down to one thing: he had lost control. He was a Malfoy, goddammit! They kept their emotions in check.

And now he knew why.

Draco slipped into the Great Hall, pausing a moment beside the entry to prepare himself, before straightening, and marching across the room towards the Gryffindor table. His heart seemed to ache in time with his footsteps as he allowed himself one last look at Harry before it was all over. At the boy who had been his enemy. Who had become his friend. And ultimately, who he had fallen in love with, a torturous weakness that he despised with every bone in his body. He had always been brought up to seek revenge against those who had hurt him. But he had never been taught what to do when the person who had caused him pain meant so much to him that it would bring _him_ pain to see them hurt. He had experienced something similar with his parents at the end of the war, but even that paled in comparison to the burning conflict tearing through him now, as he walked up to stand beside the boy who had done this to him.

So nauseous he wasn’t sure if he could speak, Draco clenched his fists tightly, taking in a deep breath, before beginning to destroy his life.

“Merlin, Potter, I thought I told you to wait for me!” Draco spat, voice a little too loud.

Startled, Harry turned to look at him, gaze momentarily filled with confusion, then flickering to . . . pain? before hardening into emerald shards. Granger and Weasley looked at each other nervously, aware of the plan, but still apprehensive about what was about to go down.

He shrugged carelessly. “Guess I forgot.” He went back to eating, exaggerating his dismissal with each motion.

“Well, it’s the fourth time you ‘forgot’ this week,” Draco prodded, beginning to grow numb as he felt his heart crack. This was actually happening. Whatever insipid fairy tale dreams he had were truly coming to an end.

Harry groaned, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal, _Draco._ We see each other all the time anyway; it’s not like five extra minutes matter.”

Even though he knew it was just a line, it still stung. “Oh, well, my mistake then. I guess I just thought that people who loved each other were supposed to want to spend time together,” Draco shot back sarcastically, viciously enjoying Harry’s slight flinch at the word ‘love’.

“Not when it’s bloody suffocating, no, I don’t think so.” Harry’s voice grew louder and students at the other tables started to take notice of what was going on, as he stood up to stand level with Draco.

“’Suffocating’? You think I’m suffocating? Merlin, Harry, you’re the one dragging me along to your friends’ study sessions every night!”

“Out of pity, because otherwise you’d be down in your frigid dungeon up to your ankles in slime all alone, because you don’t have any friends!”

A flash of salt seemed to grind into the cracks of Draco’s rapidly crumbling heart. “That’s a damn lie, Potter, and you know it! You just have sidekicks to throw themselves into danger on your behalf, not friends!” He felt a slight pinch of guilt at dragging Granger and Weasley into this when they were blameless, but Harry had started it with his attack, and such things as questioning friendship demanded a response.

Harry laughed derisively, eyes flashing coldly. “Someone’s forgotten about their minions, I see. Remind me, did your father have to pay them to hang around you because he was afraid you’d get beat up within the first week of class for being such a fantastic bloody git?”

Draco was vaguely aware that the rest of the hall had gone quiet as his and Harry’s shouts echoed across the large space, but his blood was boiling too hot to pay much attention. This was too far.

“You know what, fuck off Potter! You don’t even have parents, so I wouldn’t go around saying things about anyone else’s.”

The second the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Harry went very pale for a moment, before a cruel light came into his eyes.

“Well, at least mine weren’t murderers who tortured countless other people,” he said in a low voice that still carried across the room.

Draco found himself choking on emotion, tears clogging his eyes from the pressure bottled up inside of him. He hated this. He hated _him_. And he loved him. He hated that he had done this to him, made him so fragile that he could be torn down so easily. He didn’t even know if Harry meant what he was saying or if it was just another fucking act. Draco didn’t even know what was real anymore.

He stared at Harry, whose expression was unreadable as he looked back at him, waiting for Draco to respond. The whole Great Hall seemed to be holding its breath as the two boys stared at each other, hands trembling by their sides.

It was all too much.

Draco dragged a breath in, the air getting stuck in his throat, but he managed to drop one last pair of words at Harry’s feet, before he turned on his heel and fled.

“We’re done.”

***

After Draco had stormed out, the Great Hall had burst into noise. Harry had collapsed down onto the bench, pain and guilt throbbing through him. He had said horrible things to Draco, things that he didn’t even mean. He had just been there, looking at this proud, beautiful boy who would never love him, and something inside of him had broke. Even now, it was prodding jagged corners into him, every breath reminding him of the wound.

Ron had clapped him on the shoulder, saying in a satisfied tone, “Well, glad that’s all overwith and we can get back to some kind of normal.”

Hermione seemed to pick up on more of the turmoil Harry was trapped in, but even she didn’t say anything further about it, sending him a concerned glance before awkwardly suggesting they finish up breakfast and get to class.

The rest of the day and the weeks to come seemed toned in bleak black and white to Harry. He felt empty without Draco beside him, only catching brief glances of him from afar, walking to class with his head down and his books clasped tightly to his chest, as if to serve as some sort of armor.

Harry hadn’t realized how big a part of his day Draco was until he was gone. He missed eating meals with him and tossing light-hearted insults back and forth in conversation. He missed meeting Draco’s eye in their joint classes whenever the teacher said something unintentionally suggestive, each of them biting back laughter, the effort only made worse by looking at the other and knowing that they were thinking the exact same thing. And he missed what he thought had at times been casual affection, like when Draco had bent forward to run a hand through his hair during Exploding Snap or Harry had leaned into his side while they watched the others skate on the frozen lake during break.

He didn’t even have their former rivalry to depend on, their old spats seeming petty compared to what had been said in the Great Hall.

Ron and Hermione didn’t notice the full extent of his misery, assuming that he was simply taking on the appearance of moping to make the break-up seem more believable to the Hogwarts student body, which was still buzzing over the Great Hall incident. He would try to muster a smile for them in private when they would bring up light-hearted topics of conversation, not wanting them to become worried. They didn’t need to know that something panged in Harry’s chest every time he caught sight of someone with blonde hair or that he hadn’t yet washed the sweater that Draco had slept in that night they had spent on the couch because his smell still calmed Harry down, even when ironically he needed the relief because he was thinking about Draco himself.

So the world around Harry knew nothing of the pain that lingered still weeks after he and Draco had broken their fake relationship off.

This meant that when Ron brought up Quidditch practice at the dinner table, and was jovially talking about how excited he was to get back into intensive practice in preparation for their upcoming match, Harry had to try to dredge up some semblance of enthusiasm to match his best friend, even though he felt as though he’d rather listen to Binns talk about the goblin revolutions for a full day over thinking about the Quidditch pitch where he and Draco had run around in the snow and stargazed.

“And then I was hoping that you and I could work out some plays with the Beaters to improve our defense,” Ron chattered brightly in between heaping bites of food.

“Sure thing, mate,” Harry nodded encouragingly. “Do you want to just meet a few minutes before the practice to go over everything you’re thinking for it?”

Ron’s eyes widened gratefully. “Yeah, that’d be great, Harry. Thanks.”

“Hey, Harry!”

Harry’s intended reply to his best friend was interrupted by a slightly breathless greeting from behind him. He turned to see Colin Creevey grinning nervously back at him.

“Hi there, Colin,” Harry said, surprised to see him. In stark contrast to his second year, he and Colin had barely spoken to each other in years, the only incidents occurring when Colin and his brother, Dennis, had joined the DA in fifth year. “How are you?”

“Oh, me?” Colin blushed to match his Gryffindor stripes. “Fine, just fine. Er, how are you?”

“Not bad,” Harry lied.

“Good, good. Glad to hear it,” Colin said quietly, almost to himself more than to Harry. He was acting even more strange than usual.

“Sorry, was there something you needed?” Harry asked politely, anxious to go back to moping in peace.

“Right! Yeah, actually, there was something . . .” Colin trailed off, fidgeting with the long sleeves of his robe, before seeming to make up his mind about something. “Iwaswonderingifyouwouldliketogooutwithme.”

Harry stared at him in confusion. “Sorry, what?”

The fifth year laughed nervously. “Just, would you like to go out sometime?”

“Oh! Oh, that’s what happening?” Harry said stupidly, processing his shock out loud.

“Er, yeah,” Colin said apologetically, watching his reaction with an unsure smile.

“Sorry, but I just recently got out of a pretty serious relationship and I’m not ready to think about other people yet,” Harry said automatically, repeating the line that Hermione had given him in preparation for this inevitable moment. Yet despite the fact that it was just a rehearsed piece made up to provide a no-arguments shut down, as Harry blankly watched Colin’s understanding nod and goodbye, he knew that in some part, it was the truth. He really wasn’t ready to think about anyone else, not when his every spare thought belonged to Draco and it hurt to breathe because of him.

Except for the part about them having had a relationship. Merlin knew that was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the misery continues! It honestly hurts me to write about these two in pain!   
> One chapter left! It’s crazy how fast time has flown since I started this fic back in July, to think that we’re one week away from the ending!!! Ahh!   
> Despite the continued character pain, I again urge you to think of all the chapters of happiness I gave you before this time and humbly ask for a comment and/or a kudos! Make me as happy as Draco and Harry are made by each other! Or just feel free to yell at me about the past couple of chapters. I’m good with anything! I know your pain!  
> Hope you are all excited for finale week!!! I know I am!!!


	15. Assume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come to the ending of our tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks, the last chapter!!!!

More than anything, Draco wanted to be angry.

Anger was good. He could deal with anger. Anger made him feel alive; it would burn hot through his veins, and he could sneer at people, and plot revenge with his friends, who would only be too eager to be involved. The first thing Pansy had said to him after the break-up was that she was ready to go kick Harry’s ass as soon as he said the word. Her eyes had burned with the fury that Draco so desperately wanted to feel, her cheeks flushing with the heat as her hands clenched into determined fists, ready to hurt whoever had done him harm.

But Draco wasn’t angry. He wasn’t anything. Just empty. Exhausted, like every drop of life had been wrung out of him, leaving beating pulses of pain behind where it used to be.

He walked numbly to his classes, clinging to his books as if they could save him. He kept him head down, not able to bear the sight of Harry even flashing in the corner of his gaze. He sat with his back to the Gryffindor table, talking quietly to his friends, who watched him with worried eyes and blatant concern that would have looked more at home at the Hufflepuff table. He felt frozen, throwing himself into his schoolwork, staying up all night studying, dark shadows taking up permanent residence under his eyes, gulping down goblets full of coffee to keep himself going. Even the caffeine didn’t work all the time though, and to his shame, he found himself nodding off in class on more than one occasion.

To his surprise, Pansy said that Harry didn’t look much better than he did, moping around to classes, and slumping in his seats. Evidently, he was a better actor than Draco had thought. Perhaps some of his own aptitude at lying had rubbed off on him during . . . well, their time ‘together’.

But even the knowledge that the Gryffindor was simply playing a part didn’t stop Draco from getting a small buzz of satisfaction from hearing that he had flatly turned down the Creevey boy. Yes, providing an excuse for Harry’s admirers had been the plan all along, but that still didn’t change the fact that Draco’s traitorous heart seemed to beat a little faster at the news.

And so the weeks passed, Draco spending as much time as he could in the Slytherin common room, where there was no chance of accidentally running into Harry and he could wallow in peace.

He was going through his usual lengthy revision routine late one evening, when Pansy came into the practically deserted common room and settled down on the couch beside him.

“I thought you had gone to bed,” Draco commented idly, his attention still on the page in front of him.

“Maybe you should go to bed,” she gently suggested, tugging the large textbook out of his hands.

He sighed, reaching for it. “Pansy, we’ve been over this, I’m fine.”

“But you’re not!” She loudly insisted, dropping the book onto the floor with a ‘thud’. “Draco, it’s been weeks since you and that slimebag Potter broke up and you’re still devastated! I’m worried about you.”

Draco’s heart automatically leapt at Harry’s name, before slumping back down. “I’m not devastated,” he replied carefully, trying to make sure his voice sounded neutral. “Now, if you’ll please hand me back my book—”

“No, I will not hand you back your book!” Pansy said angrily, kicking the text away. “Draco, you’ve done nothing but study for weeks! You barely sleep; You pick at your food like it’s dirt and you hardly speak to me anymore! And it’s all fucking Potter’s fault and don’t try to tell me it isn’t, because that’s a lie and you and I both know that! I—”

“It was fake,” Draco suddenly blurted out, unable to take it any longer. “The relationship. It was fake, it . . . it wasn’t real. Just an act made up so he’d have a reason to refuse his fans’ proposals.”

Pansy stared at him, shock plastered across her face. “What? But you kissed, at the party?”

Draco shook his head, leaning back against the couch cushions. “It got . . . complicated. In more ways than one. I . . . I think I fell in love with him.”

A long sympathetic pause grew heavy in the air and Draco finally risked a glance towards his best friend, thinking that he might just let what tattered remains of his dignity disappear and hug her. The comfort would be nice.

And that’s when she slapped him.

“Draco Malfoy, I have never been more ashamed of you!” Pansy shouted furiously, the volume of her voice hurting as much as the stinging remnants of her palm. “You’re telling me that you realized you had genuine feelings for Potter and you didn’t tell him?!”

“Um, well, no, because pretty much as soon as I realized it, he said we should break off the act,” Draco explained angrily, desperately confused about what was going on right now.

Pansy’s eyes flashed menacingly. “And you just accepted that? What kind of a Slytherin are you?”

“What?” Draco stared at her, completely perplexed.

“Well, since you didn’t tell Potter how you felt, unless he read your mind and then pointedly rejected you after that and you somehow forgot to tell me, then you’re just sitting here, moping around, because of your own inaction!” Pansy’s hands punctuated every word, chopping at the air viciously.

“But—” Draco started.

“No buts! You have to go talk to Potter!”

Draco recoiled. “Excuse me?”

Pansy stood up, dragging him to his feet determinedly. “Until you hear from Potter himself that he is definitely, one hundred percent not interested, then I won’t stand for you moping around like someone smashed your car! It is not befitting of a Malfoy, and it is not befitting of a Slytherin!”

She looked at him expectantly, and, for the first time in weeks, Draco finally felt some warmth creep through his veins, igniting something inside of him. He was sick of feeling this way; going through his days numbly because it hurt too much to feel. Pansy was right. He had to go talk to Harry and tell him how he felt. And at least if he clearly rejected him, then he’d know, and wouldn’t be sitting around wondering about the what-if of it all. He could be angry again.

Or maybe, just maybe . . .

***

Cold wind rippled through Harry’s cloak as he dully flew in circles above the Quidditch pitch. He’d been out there for over an hour, aimlessly flying around on his broom, feeling sick every time he looked up at the star-speckled night sky that would forever remind him of Draco.

It was getting late. Windows in the castle continually darkened as everyone settled in for the night. Ron and Hermione were probably waiting up for him.

Legs numb from hanging down from a broom for so long, Harry landed, setting his broom on the snowy ground while he took a moment to warm his frozen hands, shoving them in his pockets to curl around the heated enchanted stones that . . . that Draco had given him.

Letting his sigh be swept away with the wind, Harry turned and stopped dead, sure that his eyes were tricking him. Perhaps he had lost his glasses while he had been flying. He reached a shaky hand up to his face. No, they were still there. Which meant that Draco Malfoy really was running across the Quidditch Pitch towards him, face slightly pinked from the cold and platinum hair completely awry.

He came to a stop several feet away from him, and they stared at each other. It had been so long since Harry had allowed himself to look at him and it hurt just as much as he thought it would.

“I had to run all over the bloody castle to find you,” Draco snapped, shivering in only his school robes. Harry hated that he noticed.

“Well, I was right here the whole time, so that was rather foolish of you,” Harry said coldly, heart thundering in his ears as loudly as the wind.

“What’s foolish is going on flying in January,” Draco replied tersely, grey eyes flitting to the broom lying forgotten beside Harry.

“Well, I’m not the idiot who’s currently freezing to death because he didn’t wear a proper robe.”

“That’s your fault,” Draco said quickly, biting back another shiver. “Like I said, flying in January.”

“Yes, but I actually wore robes meant to keep the cold away,” Harry pointed out irritably.

“You owe me a favour!” Draco blurted out suddenly, abandoning the argument as quickly as he had taken it up.

So that’s what this was about. The fucking favour Harry had promised him at the beginning of it all. He should have known Draco wouldn’t have let it go. He was a Slytherin, for fuck’s sake. What more did he expect?

Harry picked up his broom, hoping that they could at least have this conversation on the way back to the castle. “What do you want, Malfoy?” He asked tiredly, stepping to move past him.

But Harry didn’t get a chance to go a step further, because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Draco kissed him. A shock went through Harry and he dropped his broom indifferently onto the snow, arms automatically threading around Draco as he kissed him back.

Draco’s fingers were ice-cold as he laced them through Harry’s hair, slanting his lips closer into the desperate kiss. All the emptiness that had crept into Harry during the past few weeks was gone, its place taken up by that same glowing warmth that had been nestled inside his chest when he had woken up after Christmas with Draco in his arms and realized that he wanted to stay there forever.

“I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered fervently against his mouth.

“Well, I love you,” Draco countered softly, watching his face with a nervous smile Harry had never seen on him before.

Harry couldn’t help it. He started laughing. He laughed so hard faint tears edged the corners of his eyes so he was half crying as he laughed, the sound echoing across the empty Quidditch pitch.

Draco watched him in horror, a dark flush of embarrassment trailing up his face.

“Why are we like this?” Harry gasped, still shaking. “We fight and struggle and mess things up so fucking badly and oh Merlin, I love you!”

He hungrily kissed the taste of relief off of Draco’s lips, happiness buzzing through his insides as he melted against him, all his sharp angles fitting perfectly against Harry.

Draco smirked up at him, the effect slightly undone by his pinked cheeks and soft gasps to catch the breath that Harry had stolen during their kiss. “I hate to break it to you, Harry Potter, but you’re stuck with me now and I’m not leaving.”

“Gladly,” Harry said fervently, snatching another kiss from his mouth, and taking his hand. “Merlin, you’re freezing! Let’s get you inside. We can get back to this when I’m not worried about you getting hypothermia.”

“Ugh, Potter, you’re such a worrier!” Draco complained, but he softened his words with a teasing smile, running his hand through Harry’s hair one last time before stepping back.

Harry took off his scarf and knotted it around Draco’s neck, before taking his hand again as they happily trudged back up through the snow to the castle, voices dampened by the velvety night air.

“But you know we’re going to fight all the time.”

“I know.”

“And I’m going to steal your jumpers, because, damn, they are horribly comfortable.”

“I know.”

“And Pansy is probably going to hit both of us for being idiots.”

“I know.”

“And Granger too.”

“I know.”

“Shit. They’re probably going to become friends after all this mutual hitting.”

“I know.”

“And work together to make our lives at least moderately miserable.”

“I know.”

“Although it will always probably be in our best interests.”

“I know.”

“Harry?”

“Yes, Draco?”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

And they lived happily ever after.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! Y’all had nothing to fear! Did you really think I would build this all up for fourteen chapters, only to have them waste away in misery for the rest of their days? Hehe. I actually have done that before, so never mind! The important thing is I did deliver a happy ending! One which I hope you all enjoyed as much as I did. Harry and Draco deserved it, so thank Merlin for Pansy! Please let me know if you liked it down in the comments below or if you thought I should have opted for an angstier, sad ending! I’d love to know what you all think!
> 
> I’ve drafted novels before, but this was the first multi-chap fic that I’ve ever done and I have had so much fun writing it! I hope you all have enjoyed the journey as much as I have, because it’s really thanks to all of you for keeping me going! Thank you all so much for every comment, every kudo! I loved getting to see your reactions to these characters and this story and your predictions and hopes and everything! It’s been amazing, so thank you all so much for your support! It’s been an absolute pleasure getting to meet you all!
> 
> This is the end of this story, but please be sure to check out my other works and subscribe to stay updated about my future fics! I’m sure that it won’t be too long before the Drarry bug gets me again, and I’m also hoping to do a Marauders era fic soon too, so lots of exciting plans are in the works which I can’t wait to share with you all!
> 
> Once again, thank you all!
> 
> -Scarlett


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